Matterhorn
by beamirang
Summary: Sometimes by losing the battle you find a way to win the war. STID.
1. Chapter 1

So this should probably come with an angst warning. We're going to start a few days before STID kicks off and follow the movie all the way through. I won't be just spitting the film out verbatim and will only expand on things to bring them in line with the events of _Transitions_, which you probably could do with reading if anything is going to make much sense. Also, I was deluding myself when I said this was a one shot. It isn' the plus hand, since we know how STID plays out, there won't be all that many evil cliffies.

To touch on a couple of points that were raised after the final chapter of _Transitions_:

_Will Jim find out about Bones' medical tracker? _Yes. But I had the option of playing it for laughs or using it to create some tension, so naturally I'm going for the meaner option. It won't be resolved in this story but it will in the next (which is long and plotty and really, really mean to everyone and I'm not a little sorry).

_So, the Risan stripper incident…_ I know! I promised that in the last fic. It actually was in there, but the tone seemed all wrong so I pulled it out. I'll find a way to work it in somewhere else though!

_Will Sam be back? Will Kodos? Are you really going to kill Pike?! _Yes. Just yes.

A note on this part: The Science. Lets just assume that by the time STID is happening, cold fusion isn't just theoretical science. That much we can get. That said, if what they call cold fusion is what we call cold fusion then Spock basically just set off a big bomb in the middle of a volcano which is really going to do absolutely nadda. I am going to _try_ and make sense of it, but don't expect miracles.

Right! Let the suffering begin! Did I say suffering, because I meant story…

MATTERHORN

_Sometimes by losing a battle, you find a way to win the war._

For all that watching Bones and Spock snark and bitch and generally hate on each other usually made Jim's day – week sometimes, if he was really bored – he'd lost his patience with them two metaphors and a large dose of Vulcan sass earlier.

Actually, that wasn't true. Jim's patience had been dangerously thin the entire mission. Bones and Spock just happened to be the ones trying it the most.

Wondering if he should maybe just leave the bridge and let them have at it while he dosed himself up with a pot of Rand's addictive coffee, Jim caught Uhura's gaze from across the room. Her sense of humor seemed as challenged as his own and they shared a brief, irritated glance. He appreciated the development there. A month ago, her irritation would have been aimed at him instead.

Hell, a month ago Jim would have been right in there with them. The effort required to step in was just a little bit more than he had to spare though, and summoning up more energy took him time.

That was his current MO. Swinging between manic activity and lethargic dispassion. He was, according to Bones, flirting pretty heavily with depression – light foreplay, was how the doctor had described it. Clothing had been shed. Protection was being reached for.

Jim didn't think he was depressed. He didn't feel depressed, anyway. Depressed people didn't want to do anything or even get out of bed, right?

Jim would have to actually spend time _in_ his bed first. Which he didn't. And hadn't. Not since leaving Risa. Bones would kill him if he knew, but Jim managed to rest far better catching the odd catnap here and there – usually in Engineering, with the purr of his ship's engines lulling him unconscious. Scotty turned a blind eye and while Spock clearly wanted to cite some regulation or other about Jim power napping in a Jefferies Tube, Jim's work efficiency level was still powering along at a solid ninety seven point four percent. Second highest in the crew, but then he wasn't going to compete against Spock. Jim had noticed that when Uhura spent more of her time with Spock, the Vulcan's levels dropped to ninety nine percent – and Jim took an _inordinate_ amount pleasure in pointing that out to him.

Come to think of it, Jim's attempts to motivate himself seemed to revolve entirely around winding Spock up these days, especially since Bones had only begrudgingly signed off on Jim returning to duty a few days earlier and he wasn't about to push his luck by provoking him.

Spock, however, seemed to have none of the same concerns. "You are talking, Doctor, about the death of an entire species. It is not simply the lives of the planet's inhabitants that will be lost to us, but their cultural fingerprint, their future contribution to the universe and the knowledge they might one day impart." Spock said as heatedly as he ever could. Trust a Vulcan, this one especially, to make '_I'm not okay with millions of people dying_' sound like he was objecting to their extinction purely because of the scientific loss.

"I'm talking, Spock," McCoy fumed, just as angry and far more visible with it, "about you jumping into an active Volcano."

"Technically," Spock said icily, "that was the captain's idea."

"Whoah!" That brought Jim out of his funk. "In no way did I condone any volcano jumping – though I'll admit it does sound kinda fun." He tagged the last part on purely to see Bones twitch.

"No, you just suggested that we drop a cold fusion devise in to one. Which, no offense Jim, but when exactly did you become an expert on thermonuclear fission?" Bones asked, clearly exasperated and hating everyone for encouraging the idea.

Jim leaned back in his chair and smirked. "Couple of days ago." He lied, "right after Chekov told us the planet we're here to survey is about to destroy itself." In truth Jim had only had to catch up on the last few month's worth of developments in the field. Physics was sort of a favorite of his. Along with math and engineering, he found comfort in the languages they spoke.

"The captain might not have a formal education in the subject," Spock said prissily, ignoring Jim's pout, "but his hypothesis is quite accurate. A cold fusion devise would render the volcano inert, thus stopping a chain of geological aftermaths that would ultimate destroy the planet."

Jim beamed at his First. Damn right his hypothesis was accurate. Lack of formal education his ass. The School of Hard Knocks trumped the VSA any day of the week.

Bones didn't seem convinced and he paced from Spock's side of the bridge to Jim's. "So you're telling me you want to drop a giant technological ice cube into a volcano to freeze it before it erupts?"

"Okay, just because it is called 'cold fusion' doesn't mean it's going to 'freeze' anything. You know that's not how science works, right?" Jim frowned at his friend.

McCoy shot him a seriously unimpressed glare. "I'm a doctor not a volcanologist."

Jim rolled his eyes. Cue Chekov –

"Actually Doktor, ze term cold fusion is merely used because it is colder than nuclear fission," Jim snorted. Not like that was hard. Chekov actually frowned at him and Jim forced himself to behave. "Cold fusion is the fusing of two atoms to create wast amounts of energy."

"So wait, you're telling me we're going to make a hot volcano even hotter? How the hell does that make any sense?"

"You ever play with hot ice as a kid?" Jim asked, seeing Bones' eyes glaze over at Chekov's attempts at an explanation. To be fair, Bones wasn't the only person on the bridge who was in the dark about their plans and Jim had no problem at all explaining their thought process.

"Sure." Bones nodded. "We used to do it in school. In _chemistry_." He stressed, knowing far more about chemicals and their uses than Jim could probably ever hope to.

"Right." Jim nodded, pleased they had a starting point. "So basically that is an exothermic chemical reaction between sodium bicarbonate and acetic acid that, through the application of heat, transforms two liquids into a solid. That's what we're going to try and force the volcano to do. Not cool down, but solidify."

"But won't the pressure still cause an eruption?"

"It is a possibility." Spock agreed, making Bones blink in surprise. "There are several considerations to be made, not least of which is ensuring the device is calibrated to the exact specifications of the volcano in order to enact a complete transformation before the resulting pressure can cause any tectonic damage to the plant's surface."

"Then there's the whole getting the thing _in_ the volcano." Jim sighed. "Which apparently isn't as easy as it might seem."

"Can't you just beam it down?" Bones asked. "How exactly did we go from big ice cube to 'lets jump in a volcano'?"

Jim opened his mouth but Chekov was already there with the answer. "Ze planet's atmosphere is unlike anything I have ewer encountered. Ionic radiation makes beaming from outside it all but impossible."

"So we have to go down there." Bones concluded grimly.

Jim nodded. "We have to go down there."

"And how do you plan on doing that without anyone seeing the _giant spaceship_ we're flying around in?"

Jim grinned, surprised how much better he felt now he'd dragged himself back into the action. "Funny you should ask –"

* * *

"You've gotta be joking!"

Quite as expected, his chief engineer wasn't all that thrilled with Jim's plan. "Not really."

"No bloody way!" Jim ducked under an overhead pipe and followed Scotty as he stormed down into the depths of his department. "You cannae be serious Captain!"

"Oh I'm serious." Jim said calmly, gingerly inching his way after his rampaging Chief. Most of the injuries he'd sustained in the past few weeks had healed completely, but the chest wound would occasionally twinge with pain if he twisted the wrong way. He wasn't in any danger of tearing it open – again – but Bones needed to give him another few sessions with the regen unit to finally erase the remainder of the damage. "As serious as volcano that's about to destroy an entire civilization, actually."

"Captain, do you know where we are?" Scotty suddenly spun on his heels and Jim almost banged right into him.

"We're in the engineering department." Jim said. Humoring Scotty was only fair considering what he was asking.

"Aye. But what kind of engineering department?"

"The kind that makes my ship work?" Jim asked, missing Scotty's point.

Scotty threw his arms in the air in frustration and nearly banged his head off a conductor casing. "Ack, no! We're in the engineering department on a _starship_. No a bloody submarine!"

Ah, so that was the problem. Well this was why Jim had come to ask in person. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the dangers of exposing the hull of the ship to the oxidizing hazards of a planet whose ocean was composed mainly of sodium, chlorine, oxygen and hydrogen. There was a reason Starfleet had them surveying Nibiru and it wasn't for the anthropological delights of the local population. It had a great deal of potential for colonization. "Yes, but it is possible." He pushed, having checked himself.

"Theoretically yes." Scott said. "But that is nay reason to do it! _Theoretically_ I can clone myself, marry said clone and reproduce via a bloody test tube! Doesne mean I should!"

It took Jim far too long to shake off that mental image. "Wow, I did not need that in my head."

Scotty made a '_well duh'_ expression before scurrying back off once more into his engines, occasionally pausing to yell at bemused looking crew members who really should be used to Jim climbing all over their equipment in pursuit of their Chief by now.

"Come on, Scotty!" Jim cajoled. "Think of it as an adventure."

"An adventure is having pickles on me sandwiches instead of tomatoes. What you're talking about is crazy."

"Yeah, but isn't that why you wanted to be on this ship?" Jim pointed out, wondering when exactly they had decided to put a handrail _there_ and if he should be worried. "Because she is a little bit crazy."

"Oh, _she_ might be. You on the other hand are completely off ya trolly."

Jim growled and pinched the bridge of his nose to try and ward off the headache that was creeping up on him. Did other captains have to put up with this much complaining? "Scotty, can you do it?"

Scott must have finally realized that Jim wasn't really asking any more. "Aye, I can do it." He said mulishly.

Jim reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks Scotty." He met his chief's gaze and hoped his appreciation was evident. Scott was a lot like Bones in some ways – he liked a good rant, especially when he didn't immediately see the justification for something. "Now, er, how long do you think it'll take you and Spock to put together a suit that can withstand temperatures of around three thousand degrees?"

He ducked before Scotty could throw a tricorder at him and wondered why exactly he'd considered this job a milk run when all his crew had done so far was curse, scowl and throw things at him.

* * *

"Jim!" Despite Jim pointedly _not_ trying to avoid his CMO, he had nonetheless done a damn fine job of not running into McCoy in almost two days. On a ship this size, and with a doctor this stubborn, that was something of an accomplishment.

Jim looked down at his plate of bolognaise and sighed. This was what he got for actually being good and taking a break like Bones was always insisting he did.

Summoning up his best smile, Jim found it didn't quite reach his eyes when he raised his head and spotted Bones sat at a table on the far side of the galley. There wasn't really any way out without being obvious that he was avoiding his friend, so Jim sucked it up and headed over. He dropped his tray down on the table and slid into a chair. "Hey Bones. How's it hangin'?"

"Really, what's the best you got?" Bones raised an eyebrow in judgment. Then he started to study the contents of Jim's tray. Aside from the spaghetti, he had a banana and a glass of milk, and glared at the doctor, daring him to find fault. "More greens." Bones grunted, because he was Bones and had to say _something_. It wouldn't be a day that ended in y if he wasn't hassling Jim about his eating habits.

Still, Jim had heard worse. So much worse.

Jim grunted in acknowledgement of the doctor's suggestion and dug into his pasta with gusto. It had been a long, trying day and he just wanted five minutes peace and quite to eat, digest and figure out how to get Spock to actually talk to him without getting himself strangled.

"So," But of course, Bones wasn't about to let anything rest, not when he had an audience held captive by the watchful eyes of the entire crew. "I heard Spock's the one going to be playing chicken with an active volcano. You want to tell me what that is really about or should I just guess?"

"He pulled the Science Officer card and backed it up with a side of 'I'm Vulcan I can take the heat better than you fragile little humans." Jim scoffed. "Which is bullshit by the way, because I visited Vulcan and at no point did I encounter anyone skinny dipping in rivers of magma."

"You need to talk to him, Jim." McCoy said seriously, like Jim didn't know that already. The problem was he and Spock didn't really talk like normal people. They waged war with words and occasionally found a common ground that didn't require bloodshed. Jim wasn't stupid enough not to recognize the fact that Spock was exactly what he needed in an XO – namely someone who challenged him to think better, harder, faster – but by god, was it ever exhausting. The only times he and Spock had ever had anything that closely resembled a calm and rational conversation since officially becoming Captain had been when Jim was bleeding everywhere. If he got any more desperate he'd quite possibly have to resort to opening a vein just to make headway. Of course, that would be like robbing Peter to pay Paul, as Bones would actually kill him if he got so much as a splinter.

"And say what exactly? 'By the way, don't think I haven't noticed your alarmingly depressing motivations for committing suicide by larva, and yes, I get that this must be a pretty damn unpleasant reminder of the fact that your whole planet exploded a year ago…do you want to talk about it?"

"It's a start." McCoy stubbornly refused to acknowledge Jim's sarcasm.

"I'm hardly qualified to talk about reckless behavior, Bones. I was the one who came up with the plan in the first place, and I would be the one doing it if Spock wasn't such a sneaky bastard." And really, jumping into an active volcano wouldn't be the craziest thing Jim had ever done. Top three, maybe.

McCoy scowled. "Yes, because that's a great idea. I cleared you for duty on the grounds that you _don't_ behave like you usually do."

"Well how am I supposed to behave?" Jim asked.

"Like you care! If not about your own health then at least about mine! How many times have I had to patch you up in the last few months, huh?" Bones looked pained and that instantly made Jim feel guilty. Guilt wasn't an emotion he handled well.

"Last time I checked that was your job." He said frostily. Jim had learned years ago that his temper was its most dangerous when his self loathing was at its highest. He very rarely lost his temper because when he did he lost sight of the bigger picture. He locked onto a single target and nothing could penetrate until he calmed down.

Unfortunately McCoy had far less qualms about giving in to his own. Unlike Jim's it flared hot and burned out quickly. Jim found it interesting that of himself, Spock and McCoy, it was his temper that was the coldest. "Last time I checked delegation was yours." McCoy fired back just as snidely.

Jim took a breath and counted to ten. Twice. He had all the ammunition in the world to respond to that remark in a way that could destroy their friendship. He had to force himself not to use it. Instead he said, "I'll never ask my crew to do something I wouldn't be willing to do myself."

"Just because you're willing doesn't mean you should do it!" McCoy growled. "For the love of god, Jim, you nearly died."

"Well I didn't." Jim said childishly. He refused to think of the cold, dark place Sam had thrown him into and how it had nearly killed him twice now. He was refusing to think about a lot of things – namely how he was going to look Admiral Archer in the face and tell him about Hoshi-san, how Christine Chapel had been so traumatized by what Sam had done to her that she'd transferred off his ship, of how, for the first time in a long time, even the lightest, most innocent touch made his skin crawl.

"And next time it might." Bones fired back. "I'm not a damn miracle worker, Jim! One of these days you're going to hurt yourself too badly for me to fix."

"I thought we were talking about Spock's suicidal tendencies, not mine." Bones actually flinched. Jim was going to need to buy some seriously expensive whiskey if he carried on being such an asshole.

"I can multitask."

"Yeah, well, I can't. So I should get going and actually make sure shit gets done." Jim shoved his tray away, no longer interested in the pasta and cringing internally when he saw the expression on Bones' face. _James Kirk, you are a cruel son of a bitch. _"I'll see you around."

* * *

Spock kicked him out of the labs after only a ten minutes and only half of the annoying questions he had at his disposal. People had apparently forgotten that he was the captain and he could go where he liked on his own ship. Except for the labs, because Spock was busy, and Engineering because Scotty might give in to the urge to strangle him, and Medical because, well, Bones.

With his list of options limited, Jim went to the rec rooms and ran for an hour. Then he grabbed a shower, changed, and made his way to the observation deck. With the stars all around him, Jim took a seat and opened his PADD. With nothing to occupy his mind but the mission ahead, Jim felt the walls closing in on him and the mountain in his head start to crumble. Time to refocus. He flicked through lists of options, many of which were blacked out as complete.

Horticulture. He could learn about Horticulture. Who knew when that might be useful?

With an hour left to kill before his shift, Jim opened the data file and began to read.

* * *

The ion radiation that made beaming the device down from outside the atmosphere of Nibiru also played merry hell on their navigational equipment. After hours of attempting to recalibrate and compensate, Jim watched in mild fascination as Sulu threw his arms in the air, cursed under his breath and loudly declared that he'd just "Fly the damn ship by sight."

"Now Sulu, let's not be rude to our girl." Jim scolded.

Sulu had the good grace to look sheepish at his uncharacteristic display of frustration. "Sorry Captain."

Jim waved off the apology, not really annoyed. "You comfortable doing that?"

Sulu looked at him incredulously. "Sir, last month you had me piloting our way through an asteroid belt in the middle of a firefight with Orion pirates and you didn't once stop to ask if I was okay with the sheer number of times I almost crashed us."

"Yes, well, now I'm asking." Jim shrugged. In truth, when the shit hit the fan, he fully expected the same type of excellence from his crew that they needed from him. If Sulu hadn't been capable of pulling off the truly spectacular maneuvering he'd managed then Jim would have replaced him months ago, budding friendship be damned.

"Yes sir." Sulu said flatly. "I'm completely okay with navigating our starship into atmospheric orbit then dunking her in the ocean, displacing nine million tones of water in the process. Without being seen by the locals who live less than a kilometer away."

Jim was starting to think he needed to be more careful when selecting his crew because the one he had was comprised entirely of snarky, sarcastic, admittedly brilliant but occasionally outright bitchy _assholes_. "Excellent. Carry on then."

"Captain." Jim all but cringed at the sound of Uhura's voice. Given the mood this mission had everyone in he could only imagine how she'd voice her thoughts. He was surprised when she simply carried on neutrally, a half smile tugging at her lips. "We received a message from Admiral Barnett reminding us that we need to be back on earth by month's end for the fundraiser." Spock wasn't on the bridge, but that didn't stop her vagueness and Jim cursed himself for having forgotten all about it.

She was of course referring to the Starfleet run fundraiser for the Vulcan refugees. Though they had now founded a new colony on a planet not too far from Vulcan's former location, resources were in constant demand.

Last year the Admiralty had gone all out in their efforts and as a newly minted Captain Jim had been required to attend. Knowing that he'd be the center of attention both from civilians and brass, Jim had schmoozed his ass off and pulled in a slightly mindboggling number of donations. Spock had been stunned, Pike had been proud and Bones had found the whole thing utterly hilarious, right down to the lipstick on Jim's collar that he swore blind did not belong to the Andorian Ambassador.

Hell, Jim had wooed pretty women for far less noble causes.

Still, he wasn't sure he was in the mood to play nice with anyone, let alone politicians. The thought was immediately followed by a wave of disgust at himself. _Priorities, Kirk,_ he scolded himself.

"Right then," He turned to the front of the bridge. "Chekov, you have the conn. I'm going to see how Spock's doing with his shiny superhero suit. Let's get this thing moving: mini canapés wait for no man!"


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry! This is a little later than I planned! You won't have to wait as long for the next part, promise!

* * *

Since becoming of age Spock had never met anyone who drove him to uncontrollable fits of rage quite as well as Jim Kirk.

Kirk was irritating. There were plenty on the ship who would attest to that much, several in Kirk's handpicked command crew itself. That was not the problem. Spock had spent many years amongst humans now. Irritating behavior, though by it's own namesake was designed to cause frustration, had long since found ways to shift his focus onto other things.

Kirk was obnoxious. Again, Spock had no shortage of volunteers who would attest as much. Again, not the root of Spock's problem.

It was only recently, in light of events with Kirk's brother and Admiral Marcus, that Spock had finally been able to pin down the main cause of his tribulations with Kirk.

It was the man's intelligence.

Having reassessed what he knew about Kirk's intellectual abilities, Spock reexamined many of their prior encounters and was startled at the number in which Kirk had actively manipulated him. There never seemed to be any malice behind his actions, not even at their most volatile of confrontations, but there was no denying the spark in Kirk's eyes when he looked at Spock and challenged him, dared him, provoked him and propelled him ever forwards.

Spock did not like being manipulated. Now he recognized Kirk's actions for what they were, he found himself falling back into familiar patterns of behavior. When Kirk pushed, he pulled, when Kirk teased, he let the words flow passively over him.

There had been a brief moment when Spock thought he might understand Kirk and why he acted the way he did, and speaking to his captain as he lay in medical, slowly recuperating from his injuries, Spock had been foolish enough to hope that _this_ might be the friendship that his counterpart had promised.

He had been wrong.

And of course if Kirk's duplicity was not enough to create friction between them, then his complete and utter disregard for the rules would have done the job superbly.

Aside from the manipulative behavior Spock had unearthed, he had learned that Kirk was reckless, stubborn, irresponsible, petty, childish, irrational and temperamental. No positive character traits could hope to balance those faults.

He was wondering, not for the first time, if he had perhaps made a mistake in not resigning his commission.

Now, as he sat in the shuttle that would take them from the bed of Nibiru's primary ocean to the volcano half a kilometer away, Spock supposed it was a little too late to speculate on such things.

The object of his disquiet was pulling absently on the sash wrapped around his shoulders. He'd equipped himself with the robes he would need to disguise his distinguishing features from the white skinned natives and seemed to be finding the headscarf rather distracting.

"Stop fussing." Nyota scolded him from her spot in the navigator's seat.

Kirk pouted at her. She and Sulu both ignored him.

"Shuttle Five, ready for take off." Sulu announced.

"Wait!"

They all looked over to the shuttle door as an out of breath McCoy stumbled on board, dressed in his own copy of Kirk's robes.

"Bones?" Kirk frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming with you, obviously." McCoy grumbled, climbing over Spock to take a seat.

"Okay." Kirk nodded. "Since when?"

"Since you always get yourself in some ridiculous mess or another and since the last time I let you off the ship unsupervised you got yourself beaten halfway to hell and back and nearly started an interstellar war."

"Not really my fault." Kirk protested, "And you hate away missions." Kirk looked incredulously at the doctor who had fastened himself into his seat. Since he had not voiced any protest, Sulu had clearly taken the doctor's presence as a given and continued with departure proceedings.

"Hate you nearly getting yourself killed a whole lot more." McCoy grunted, looking at Spock and scowling. "Now lets get this over with."

For a brief moment, Kirk smiled and it was a sight wonderful to behold. Soon it passed and Spock listened in as Kirk went over the mission details with McCoy.

"So we run in, pull their tail features and get the hell out of dodge. Got it." McCoy summarized after Kirk had finished.

"I believe the captain's plan is a little more complex, Doctor." Or so Spock hoped. They were counting on Kirk to clear the area as the natives were simply too close to the foot of the volcano to avoid casualties should they stay.

"No," Kirk shook his head. "That's pretty much it."

"And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?"

Kirk shrugged as they glided out of the ship's main hanger and out into the salt water. Chief Engineer Scott had been most vocal in his displeasure in that regard and Spock found himself sympathetic.

"I dunno." Kirk admitted. "I'll figure something out when we get there."

"Great." McCoy huffed. "Perfect."

Kirk's smile was back, this time edged with something slightly unhinged. "Come on Bones, this is me we're talking about. Angering people off is what I do."

"No kidding." McCoy snorted.

And for the very first time, Spock found himself in agreement.

* * *

Spock set the final pieces of the suit down on the floor of his quarters. With overt carefulness, he shed the thin microfilm bodysuit that protected his skin from the metal and showered expediently.

He should package the components of the suit and have them transferred back to the labs for further study. By comparing the damage to the original designs they would be able to create a more efficient model.

But instead of returning to his work, Spock simply dressed and sat at his desk, torn between anger and confusion.

He was alive.

He had not expected to be.

The odds of his survival, even without the complications they had faced, had been less than optimal. He had known as much and yet deemed the risk acceptable. His life was, by contrast to an entire species, considerably less valuable.

But Kirk had _saved_ his life. Kirk had broken the most sacred of all their rules to do so. Kirk didn't care.

Kirk had allowed the detonation of the cold fusion device because Spock had wished it. He'd allowed Spock to be the one to carry it, despite his obvious dislike of the situation, because Spock had wished it. And when Spock had accepted the finality of death, Kirk had snatched him from its claws.

Spock could not understand the motivation for any of it.

"_Mr Spock?"_ As if by divine summons, Kirk's voice spoke to him from the bathroom they shared. He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, having never been invited into Spock's quarters. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel perfectly adequate, Captain." Spock said truthfully.

Kirk bit his lip, his fingers drumming on his thigh and his shoulder ridged – all signs of distress. "I can see that. I just…you told me once that I could talk to you." Kirk looked almost hesitant, so unlike his usual safe, that Spock was thrown off balance. Was this another manipulation or genuine emotion? "I wanted to make the same offer."

"I do not require conversation, Captain." Spock said calmly. In truth he required the opposite.

"I-" Kirk sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "That isn't what I mean."

"Then you should be more precise in your terminology, Captain, a fault which I have noticed now on several occasions. Imprecise speech leads to confusion. For example, 'The Prime Directive should not be broken' can clearly lead to misinterpretation, whether it be willful or otherwise."

Kirk's jaw clenched. "You're still pissed about that."

"Again, Captain, I must ask you to be more precise. To what am I 'pissed'?"

"I'm not sorry." Kirk said flatly. "And I'd do it again."

"That," Spock said, ignoring the treads Kirk left hanging by his stubborn refusal to address the topic directly, "Is precisely what worries me."

"Jesus Spock!" Kirk's control snapped, as Spock knew it would. The man was remarkably easy to goad and the angrier Kirk got, the tighter Spock's reign on his own emotions became. "Does your life really mean so little to you?"

Kirk had crossed the threshold and stood fully in Spock's chambers, back lit by the light from the bathroom. He was tense and angry and a far cry from the man who sat and joked with his crew while on duty. This was the real Jim Kirk: odd how only he could see it.

"Once again, you fail to miss the point." Spock responded coolly. "It is Starfleet's mandate to observe and explore, not to change the course of an entire species' destiny."

"We stopped a volcano blowing them to kingdom fucking come!" Kirk yelled. "I think we went a little beyond changing the course of their destiny."

So many of their conversations became arguments, but only rarely did they reach such levels of vitriol. Those were saved for the privacy of their own quarters – Jim's most frequently. It would not do for the crew to see such discord between their commanding officers. Kirk especially was careful to keep the feelings he so clearly expressed in times like these from bleeding into their public interactions. It was one of his positive character traits.

"None the less they would have continued to develop their culture unimpeded by the influence of the outside world. Now we will never know how much of their development has been caused by our own actions."

"So we killed Schrodinger's cat." Kirk scoffed. "I'm still not seeing how that is worse than you dying."

"You broke the most sacrosanct mandate of our office." Spock was finally starting to get frustrated himself at Kirk's lack of objectivity.

Kirk, however, suddenly froze over as quickly as the volcano had down on Nibiru. "No cause, no matter how important, is worth a man's life."

"You truly believe that." Spock observed. "Is there nothing you would die for, Captain?"

In truth he was not sure what response he expected Kirk to give and the abrupt dismissal of the conversation should have surprised him less than it did. Kirk's jaw clenched once more and he spun on his heel. "Okay, I checked up on you you're alive, you're just as much of a dick as always; no harm, no foul."

The door to their bathroom slid closed with only a faint hiss but the sound echoed as if Kirk had slammed it shut.

Spock returned to his desk and attempted to put the conversation out of his mind.

He could not.

Nor could he explain why, now Kirk was absent and had taken away the fuel for Spock's own irritation, his anger over Spock's actions was actually touching. For some strange reason, Jim Kirk cared if he lived or died. He was reminded of the way he had felt after Kirk's rescue from the hostage situation on Io, and again after he was taken right from under their noses.

Infuriating, irritating, obnoxious a man though he was, Spock too cared if he lived or died.

With that thought in mind, Spock sat down to compose his own report on the mission. As Captain, ultimate responsibility rested with Kirk. It would be he who answered to Command for the entire mission, and he who would shoulder the brunt of their displeasure.

Perhaps, with the proper application of words, Spock could do his duty and help carry that weight. He was responsible for his own actions and it was only right he accept the consequences of them.

Once composed, he forwarded the report to Nyota for inclusion in the next outgoing package. It would arrive alongside Kirk's and hopefully deflect some of the Admiralty's anger.

Fully aware that he was once again putting his career on the line for Kirk, Spock sat back and marveled at the fact that he was willing to do so when only minutes ago he's have welcomed the chance to wring the man's neck for a second time. Perhaps this was how Doctor McCoy felt: stalwartly loyal, fiercely protective, but frequently driven to apoplexies of rage.

If such was the case, Spock owed the man an apology.


	3. Chapter 3

So, this is the Pike chapter. I can't even. I'll just be over here with my ice-cream. Feel free to come join me and we'll drown our sorrows in cookie dough fudge delight.

* * *

Christopher Pike hadn't been sleeping well in weeks. He'd had troubled dreams for years and had always considered them as a form of payment to the universe for his many mistakes.

After his encounter with Nero they had gotten worse, but he'd expected as much. Part of his rehabilitation had been psychological as well as physical and he still had to clock in hours with a fleet shrink once a month. They talked about Nero and what had been done to him and more importantly, how to handle his propensity to hoard guilt. Nero had gotten exactly what he wanted after less than an hour and Chris had to live with that knowledge. And of course it wasn't just that. The destruction of Vulcan, the near destruction of Earth… that was just the cherry on the top of a very large cake.

It was one of many personality flaws. One that he acknowledged and accepted and talked through with trained professionals so it didn't rear its ugly head when he wasn't expecting it to.

He was mature and adult about it, though he hated every minute. He had a responsibility to be mentally healthy when so many people relied on his judgment and advice.

There were times when he thought it was his duty to convince Jim of the same. He knew that it was irrational to expect one man to house the kind of demons Jim did and not expect them to blow up in all of their faces, but at the same time the kid was so good at keeping a lid on them that he feared what would happen if he was forced to let them free.

It was a conversation he'd had with McCoy many times, most recently when the doctor had drunkenly confessed to injecting Jim with a remote medical monitoring device. The invasion of privacy was astronomical and Jim would not see the humor in it when he found out. Ultimately though, Pike had agreed the step had to be taken. Jim simply couldn't be trusted with his own health because despite all claims to the contrary and all evidence that suggested otherwise, there was not a single person alive that Jim genuinely believed had only his best interests in mind.

It broke Pike's heart as much as it did McCoy's. They were probably the people who could call themselves closest to Jim, and part of the kid was still waiting for them to turn on him. Pike deserved the mistrust. McCoy did not.

His hands shook as he reached for the glass of water on his desk. He was still angry – furious, actually – that Jim had been stupid enough to put himself back in Marcus' firing line, that he'd gotten involved with Nibiru in the first place. He'd meant every word he'd said to Jim – that he was reckless, that he played god, that he didn't respect his commission, and though it was all true, that wasn't the root of his anger. He could probably have defended Jim's choices on Nibiru in light of recent circumstances. He'd have been reprimanded, probably fined, but there _had_ been times when the Prime Directive had been broken in the past and there undoubtedly would be again. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that Jim had _lied_ about it. That was not something a ship's captain would do. They would own their mistakes and accept the consequences of them, but Jim had clearly fallen back into his old, juvenile habits.

And in truth, Pike was disappointed with him.

He was also terrified out of his mind, and that fear had sharpened what had already been a dangerous temper.

Jim had promised him he'd lay low and stay off Marcus' radar, and barely six weeks later he had gone and given up the one tactical advantage he had. Marcus hadn't hesitated in taking Jim off the ship and it didn't take a genius to understand why. It had nothing to do with Jim breaking the rules. While Captain, Jim had been protected by both distance and position. Now, thrown back into the Academy, Pike gave it a month before Section 31 had him in their grasps. Jim would be flung out across the galaxy into one suicide mission after another and he'd be dead by the end of the year.

All because Jim had been stupid, and arrogant enough to think he could get away with it.

It said a lot about the kid's mental state. The Jim Pike knew would never have given up that ground. He'd have trusted in his ability to charm his way out of trouble, keeping the leverage on his power instead of blindly trusting it to the universe.

Things with Sam had messed him up more than Pike had realized. He should have made steps to prevent something like this from happening before he left Jim at Risa, but like the old, foolish man that he was, he'd believed in the veneer of normalcy Jim had projected.

If any other captain had experienced what Jim had, Pike would have demanded he took compassionate leave. Jim should have been no different.

He was finally able to take a long gulp of water, his hands still shaking violently as fear and anger slowly gave way to guilt.

He'd accepted long ago that Jim Kirk could gut him wide open with just a look. He'd done it so many times – the quiet grief at his mother's funeral, the flinching fear after Frank, the hollow coldness after Tarsus, the hesitant hope when Jim had pulled on his bars.

The kid was too damn expressive for his own good and Pike knew that.

But he'd never once been looked at the way Jim had looked at him today.

Today, Jim had looked at him with such stunned, echoing hurt that Pike himself might as well have been the one to have etched the scars into his body and soul.

In taking away the _Enterprise_, Pike might as well have ripped the kid's heart out with his bare hands. He'd probably have done less damage.

In fact, he was pretty sure that he - who loved the boy enough to wish he was his own- had done what a universe full of monsters and bad luck had failed to do: he'd crushed Jim Kirk's spirit.

Well to hell with that.

When it came to Jim, he knew he would never act rationally. No parent ever could when their kid was hurting, even if that kid was as much of a pain in the ass as Jim.

Pike put the glass back on his desk, grabbed his cane and marched from his office.

* * *

Alexander Marcus didn't look surprised when Pike stormed his office, one protesting secretary stumbling in his wake.

Marcus waved her away and directed Pike to a seat. "I wondered how long it would be before you came to see me." He said, leaning back away from the PADD on his desk. "This is why you weren't invited to Kirk's tribunal."

"I know exactly why I wasn't invited, sir." Pike said stiffly.

"Then you should know we've picked Kirk's replacement." Marcus said.

God help them, Pike thought sourly. Kirk's crew would never accept another in Jim's place. His replacement would have to cower them into submission or work a miracle. Doing the former would only extinguish the spark that made the _Enterprise_ such a promising ship, and he did not believe anyone capable of the later. "I see."

"It's you." Marcus smirked at the dumbfounded expression that crept across Pike's face.

For a split second, Pike felt a giddy wave of joy – he was going back into space, back into action, back where he belonged – but it vanished quickly as another plan crept in.

"Thank you sir." He said, as courtesy dictated. The immediately added, "I'd like to request Kirk as my First Officer."

"Of course you would." Marcus sighed. "Not happening, Chris."

"He's qualified." Pike countered, not willing to let the matter drop. "Sending him back to the Academy would be a criminal waste of his talents."

"A good humbling is exactly what that boy needs." Marcus said calmly. "He'll complete his command training and move up through the ranks again like he always should have."

"There is nothing the Academy can teach him that he couldn't pick up by himself in a week." Pike protested. "And what then? He gets thrown into the officer pool to write up reports and keep his mouth shut? We both know that's not going to happen. Not now he's had a taste of command. He'll get himself discharged before a month is out."

"Not really my concern." Marcus shrugged. "He had his chance – a chance his peers would kill for, actually."

"So you're going to turn down all that potential?" Pike goaded, "Given all the trouble he's caused over the years, I find that surprising."

He wouldn't outright mention everything that had transpired with Tarsus, he wasn't that stupid, but then neither was Marcus. He knew exactly what Pike was referring to.

Marcus raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you trying to manipulate me, son? You aren't as good at it as Kirk is."

"No," Pike agreed, "I'm not. But I am a damn fine captain - your words, sir. Give me Kirk as my First. He trusts me. I can control him and you can still get your use out of him."

Marcus laughed. "See now, I'd believe you if I hadn't seen the way you look at the boy. You're honestly telling me you can keep him in line?"

Pike took a breath and forced himself to remain calm. "Today I just took away the one thing in the world he wants, if I give it back to him, I won't have to keep him in line. The kid'll be so damn grateful he'll fall over himself to show us how good he can be."

"Kill him with kindness, huh?" Marcus paused to consider the option. "I hear that's how Kodos did it in the end. It's worth a shot. He's your responsibility."

"Yes sir." Pike was too busy being relieved to allow the disgust he felt at hearing Kodos' name to show. "Thank you."

"Don't think me." Marcus said. "A storm's coming, Chris. I need Kirk where he can be of use, but don't think for a second that I will hesitate in putting him back in his place if I need to."

Pike nodded, hiding his relief behind a wall of stoicism and calm. "Understood, sir."

* * *

Finding Jim was not difficult. There were only so many places he could be and Pike ruled out any that were frequented by fleet officers. He also ruled out some of the rougher bars he knew Kirk and McCoy had visited, He'd seen the devastation on the kid's face when Pike had taken away the one thing he loved. The violent self destruction would come when the shock wore off and anger at himself kicked in. Until then, he'd turn to alcohol for comfort.

The bar he found the kid in was actually one he, Kirk and McCoy had been to before. McCoy had dragged Jim there kicking and screaming – it wasn't exactly classy, but miles above the dives Jim usually frequented – right after Kirk had spent the entire day standing on ceremony as the Academy took full advantage of having George Kirk's son in attendance for Kelvin Memorial Day. It was Jim's twenty third birthday and he'd only been allowed to spend it at his leisure after twelve hours in uniform. McCoy had gotten him completely wasted and, more than a little drunk himself, had called Pike to chew him out over what he saw as serious organizational shortfalls.

Pike had come to collect them just so they avoided being caught on camera but somehow had spent the entire night joining them at the bottom of a bottle. Responsible adult his ass.

After that, if they ever drank together, it was in that one bar. It was infrequent more out of proprietary's sake than anything else – they were cadets and he their instructor – but every couple of months he'd be cajoled by either Jim's hopeful smile or McCoy's gruff insistence.

It seemed strange seeing Jim sat at the bar by himself when the last time they'd been there he'd been all but crying with laughter as Pike had purposely teased McCoy over his supervisor in SFM.

He saw Jim catch the eye of a pretty brunette by the bar and sighed. Jim's propensity sleep around was actually one of his least self-destructive tendencies but the last thing the kid needed tonight was another meaningless notch to the bedposts.

What he needed was something that, for the very first time, Pike could actually give him.

Pike took a seat, his shoulders free of a weight he'd carried for as long as he'd known Jim Kirk.

After everything they'd been through, after all the times he'd failed to be what Jim needed, something finally clicked into place.

He couldn't give Jim back his bars, not yet, but he could maybe give Jim what he really needed. Pike didn't doubt in Jim's ability to save himself but he also knew that sometimes even the strongest of men needed to know that when they fell there was someone who would and could carry them out of the darkness.

It wasn't ideal, it wasn't anything close to what Pike imagined his future would be, but he could see the hope in it and he'd bring Jim back with him into the light.

And it was there, dawning in Jim's eyes as Pike's words sunk in. "It's going to be alright, son." He squeezed Jim's shoulder and let all the warmth and pride and love he felt for the impossible boy sink into his voice.

And it would be, because thirteen years after he'd first tried, Chris was finally going to be able to bring Jim home.

His comm. beeped.

* * *

Four hours later and everything had gone to hell. He was hazy on the details, still unsure how one minute Jim had once again been waving a red flag under Marcus' nose and the next he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

The world was ending around him and even though Spock was there, dragging him to safety, Chris wanted to fight him. He wanted to struggle, to stay, because leaving that room meant leaving Jim and he couldn't, not now, not after he'd promised.

But he couldn't even speak. It didn't hurt, not any more, and not physically at least, but his thoughts were a jumble and his body was betraying him again.

A distant part of his mind was trying to tell him the undeniable truth of what was happening – he was dying – but he rebelled against the knowledge. He wasn't ready to die, not now, not when he'd finally started to fix things.

The pain came then, bringing tears to his eyes as Spock's face swam in and out of focus. Gentle fingers touched his cheek and his forehead and he felt a soothing brush against his mind, bringing a sudden, blinding jolt of clarity.

Jim. Where was Jim? Was he hurt? Why the hell was Spock here with him when Jim was alone in there?

His tears fell and he was helpless to stop them as terror and misery battled with the agony seizing through his body. He tried blinking them away as his through caught on what he knew would be his last breath.

He held it as long as he could, refusing to go. It was just long enough to see a figure appear over Spock's shoulder, blond hair messy, blue eyes shadowed. Jim Kirk was once again saving himself and everyone with him.

He couldn't hold on any longer.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

They were supposed to be going home.


	4. Chapter 4

So now we are all either hyper or in diabetic comas, I think I can safely say I hate the last chapter and I think you all do as well. To be entirely fair, I haven't had a huge amount of fun writing any part of this story. At least Sam was batshit crazy with his evil schemes. Marcus and Harrison are uber serious. It's all very serious, actually. There are, fortunately, only a few more parts to go as well all know what happens in the spaces between scenes.

I really do hope you're enjoying the read, though, and thank you for sticking with me.

* * *

McCoy sat at the table in Jim's ready room, surrounded by men and women he had come to believe could actually do the impossible. Under Jim Kirk they had saved the world, battled pirates, discovered lost civilizations and kicked Mother Nature in the ass.

They had been together only a short time, but McCoy had grown to respect them all, even like some of them - though he admitted as much very begrudgingly. The slightly oddball bunch of misfits and rebels who were all willing satellites in Jim's orbit were slowly but surely becoming something McCoy could hesitantly call a family.

And though it was slightly ludicrous to think of it in such a way, in the space of ten minutes, they'd all just become orphans.

'Mom and dad are fighting' was a phrase that had been used in regards to Jim and Spock on numerous occasions, mostly with humor and nearly always followed by detailed discussions of which of their COs fit which role. Only those closest to the two knew that there was ever anything to worry about because when they actually worked together, they were a force that could bring the universe to its knees…so what if they disagreed some times?

Things had been especially frosty between them since Nibiru, but McCoy doubted anyone really knew just how on edge Spock had Jim, or vice versa. They'd expected a period of both men sulking before they pulled up their big boy pants and got the hell on with it.

Not even in their wildest dreams were they expecting to see Spock reassigned. That announcement had been met with an outcry of anger and confusion.

When Archer had followed with news of Jim's demotion, he'd practically had a ship wide mutiny on his hands.

McCoy had walked out of the meeting without pausing to consider the ramifications to his career.

To be entirely honest, he wasn't even sure if he had a career ahead of him anyway. No way no how was he staying on that tin can if Jim wasn't there.

McCoy needed to find him.

This…this would break Jim.

Sending him back to the Academy? McCoy knew exactly what was going to happen of they did that: Jim would leave. He'd up and go and that would be it, they would never hear from him again. Which…no. Not happening. Not on McCoy's watch.

He was going to find the damn kid, get him blindingly, incapacitatingly drunk, leave him passed out in a corner, and then figure out how the hell he was going to kill a Vulcan with his two hands because it didn't take a genius to figure out exactly what had happened.

He pulled out his comm. as he tore through the corridors towards the transporter room. He along with the majority of the crew were still on board, rotating shore leave in place while they filled several admiralty mandated functions. Spock should have been on board as well but had beamed down that morning. Jim had been on first rotation, his presence in demand from several departments. McCoy had been planning on stealing him for a day to visit Jo.

At least he didn't have to work around Jim's impossible schedule anymore, he thought bitterly.

There were several messages waiting for him, but the last two were the most important.

Firstly, from Pike _I've got him. Don't worry._

Then from Jim_. In daystrom, explain everything later._

Which naturally only made McCoy worry more. If Jim was just another cadet, then why the hell was he in what was essentially Starfleet Command's war room?

He fired Jim back a message _what the hell is going on?_

Jim wasn't the one who answered.

* * *

In the space of twelve hours, the whole world changed.

McCoy arrived at SFHQ just in time to see an explosion take out the entire fifty first floor.

As the first doctor on site, he was caught up in triage almost instantly, racing towards the chaos and quickly taking control of the situation. After the Narada, he didn't even have to think, he just reacted, instinct and experience making the process smooth and almost detached as he moved from one casualty to another, assessing, treating, or announcing death as he went.

He didn't even question his location until he caught sight of Admiral Marcus, bloody and stone faced as he moved around, helping injured men and women with a shocking level of care. It was a beam of clarity into what had become a bubble of concentration and McCoy finally looked around, assessing the carnage from a different angle.

The men and women he was treating were all high-ranking officers: Commanders and above. And the room they had been carried from? _Daystrom_.

McCoy had only a split second for panic to start building before he caught sight of Jim. He was still in his dress grays, still wearing his captain's bars, and he had an arm around the back of a limping woman as he helped her from the carnage towards the cluster of medical personnel waiting close by.

Having passed his last casualty off to the EMT who would ferry them directly to SFM, McCoy stumbled to his knees and headed in Jim's direction.

Jim didn't look hurt, but then McCoy had made that mistake in the past. He caught up to Jim just as he handed the woman over to one of McCoy's former med track classmates.

"Jim!" He caught Jim's elbow and carefully eased him around, tricorder already out and scanning. He was surprisingly unhurt. A few cuts and bruises, the aftermath of a strong surge of adrenaline, but overall nothing McCoy could do more than prescribe a few days off duty and a good night's sleep for.

But though the numbers told him everything he needed to know, there was something he was missing. Jim's expression was carefully blank, but his eyes were red and while it could have been the smoke, McCoy recoiled in shock when he realized what it really meant.

Jim had been crying.

McCoy looked around in a panic, half expecting some monster from Jim's past to come lumbering at them, because he'd seen Jim cry _once_ before, and that was after the murder of Hoshi Sato…

He stopped, looked around, surveyed the chaos. Then…

_Christ, no._

"Pike." He breathed, not seeing the Admiral and knowing instinctively that there was only one thing that could reduce Jim to tears. "Oh Jim…"

Jim flinched back from him violently, walls going up faster than McCoy could possibly hope to stop until he was met with a cold, blank wall of distance. "There are people inside who need a doctor." Jim said, his voice even and dull.

McCoy's heart was breaking for him. "Jim, there are other-"

"People are dying." Jim said, a little more icily this time. "The living can wait."

A moment later, his name was called by a doctor he'd worked with in the past. Heinrick had his hands all but buried in the guts of a wounded security officer. Instinct had McCoy moving towards the dying man, and the moment he looked back, ready to demand Jim _stay right the hell there_, Jim had already vanished.

* * *

McCoy worked for only another forty-five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. By the time all the casualties had been transported, McCoy had found Spock and all the facts had been gathered. McCoy knew about London, about Jim's new position as First Officer – though now he'd be Captain once again, purely by the merits of the system. Spock had put Scotty onto getting what he could out of the portable transporter beam the man known as John Harrison had used to escape with while Chekov, Sulu and Riley were trying to get everything they could on the man out of Starfleet's mainframe.

McCoy had no doubt Jim would be doing the same.

"The captain was…" Spock trailed off, unable to put into words what he must have seen when Pike had died. Pike's death seemed to have had more of an effect on him than his own near miss did, for he looked lost and confused.

McCoy could only imagine.

* * *

Another six hours, and everything had changed again.

Jim was captain once more. Spock his XO. The entire crew had been recalled and McCoy had spent the entire time trying to respect the fact that Jim clearly wanted to be alone.

McCoy missed three shuttles just waiting for Jim to arrive and tried not to be hurt when Jim stormed passed him, his mind already in the stars.

"You look like shit." McCoy said bluntly. It was obvious Jim hadn't slept at all, and there was no way he'd have eaten. Jim leveled a hollow, fractured look at him but McCoy barreled on. "You know most people get treatment after they're in a firefight."

"I'm fine, Bones." Jim said, doing a fair job of sounding everything he clearly wasn't.

"Uh huh. Look, Jim…tell me you're not going after this guy." Because this was clearly going to be personal and there were some lines even Jim should never cross. Pitting Kirk against a deranged terrorist…well, Starfleet had done it before and probably would do so again. But letting him lead a manhunt for the person who had murdered the closest thing Kirk had to a father…

It was only going to end one way, and it wasn't well.

"We have our orders." Jim said, as if he of all people cared at all about orders.

"Jim-"

"He wanted me." Jim suddenly snapped, spinning on his heels and glaring at McCoy, who started at the sudden blast of anger sent his way. "I was thirteen and a smartass and I drove people crazy and I still had Frank's fingerprints on my skin and he looked me in the eye and said he was going to make sure no one ever hurt me again. My own mother didn't give that much of a damn about me, and Sam's the type of crazy who thought chaining me up in the basement Kodos used to torture me in would be a fun family bonding gig." Jim laughed, a hysterical sound with the gleam of tears in his eyes once more. "Then there's Hoshi-san, who loved me but apparently not enough to actually fight for me when I needed her to. He's the only one. The only one who has _ever_ fought for me. And now he's gone."

"Jim-"

Jim shook his head, all traces of emotion suddenly jerked back and shoved back down into the dark, echoing place inside of him. "No. There isn't a place in the universe bleak or remote enough for John Harrison to hide in."

McCoy had caught glimpses of this man before – when dealing with Marcus, when talking down a Klingon patrol – but it might very well have been the first time he looked at Jim and really understood what it was Marcus and Sam had been trying to kindle in him.

His rage burned as cold and dangerous as the blue ice in his eyes.

"Come with me, Bones." Jim said softly. "Or stay out of my way." Then he turned and boarded the shuttle, leaving McCoy standing outside, alone.

McCoy didn't even have to think. He scrambled after Jim, tricorder in hand and his usual tirade on the tip of his tongue.

"Your vitals are way off, moron. Why the hell didn't you go see a doctor, or you know, _me_…."


	5. Chapter 5

So one thing that really stood out for me in STID was the way Jim handles grief. Everyone has their own ways of course, and some are more healthy than others, but Jim doesn't seem capable of even acknowledging his feelings (which is why I think McCoy calls him the pot to Spock's kettle). And I have to admit I like seeing that in his character, because it makes him mean and manipulative and I love playing around with that. I think what makes the Kirk Vs Khan interaction so fascinating is where they draw the lines in the sand. It's also why I adore Jim as much as I do, because while he IS a good guy, he's not always a nice one. Anyhow, we are at the half way point. Thanks again for reading. I hope you are enjoying, respite already knowing what is happening (because killing Jim off at the end would be an awesome twist if you didn't know it was coming…can I do that in a later fic?).

* * *

Jim was twelve when he drove Frank's car off the edge of a cliff. When he'd talked to shrinks about it after, they'd all asked him the same thing: did he want to die?

His answer had been no, always no, though sometimes the language he used to express it would differ. He'd not wanted to die, that hadn't been why he'd done it. Even now he wasn't sure _why_ he'd done it.

He just knew that for a split second in time, the world had frozen and he'd hung in space, perfectly safe, perfectly in control.

And then his own momentum had dragged him down, fingers scrabbling for purchase on a ground that had no interest in whether he lived or died. In his dreams, no matter how hard he tried to hold on, he always fell down that cliff.

Now he was falling again, only this time he was taking his whole crew with him.

Jim was no stranger to hurting people. He had a whole back catalog of experience and a vivid imagination. Give him a minute with someone and he'd tell you exactly how best to wound them – physically or psychologically.

He'd done it to everyone he cared about at some point in his life. First his mom, when he'd been old enough to start resenting her as much as he loved her, then Sam, who'd deserved every second of it. Pike, some of the kids on Tarsus, Kodos, Bones, Spock. He justified it all in his head by telling himself he hadn't done it for selfish reasons. It was complete bullshit, but he'd kept the lie in his head from disintegrating right up until Scotty, who had done what even Bones hadn't and followed his lead without question, complaint or concern. He'd jumped purely because Jim told him to and then gone on to be the only person on the ship who hadn't been expecting him to crash and burn.

Jim had taken that loyalty for granted and it had bitten him in the ass.

A lot of things seemed to be doing that these days.

Bones was mad at him, Scotty had quit on him, Spock was….well Spock was continuing to make Jim feel like he had no right to be on the bridge at all.

Half his crew wouldn't meet his gaze while the other half wouldn't drop it, their eyes bright with compassion and the knowledge that Jim Kirk was clearly going to break down at any damn second.

Jim had never had so much power at his fingertips – a Consitution Class Starship and a whole department full of seriously hyped up torpedoes just waiting for his command – and yet he hadn't felt so out of control in years.

He felt young and weak, two thinks he hated feeling.

"Captain." Jim didn't slow his march towards the turbolift, forcing Uhura to jog just to keep pace with him.

"Yes Lieutenant?" He owed it to her not to snap. She'd done nothing wrong and even he wasn't that much of an asshole.

Her hand hesitated before curling over his elbow, soft and careful. He flinched and pulled back, willfully not seeing the sorrow in her eyes. "I'm so sorry about Admiral Pike." She whispered.

Jim Kirk jumped off cliffs without caring what waited at the bottom. Jim Kirk could laugh his way through a beating. Jim Kirk could keep the agony off his face at the well-meaning words of his subordinate. "Thank you."

"Are you okay?" Uhura asked hesitantly, seemingly knowing how pointless the question was.

Of course he was okay. "I'm fine." Men died all the time. Soldiers died all the time. That was all Pike was. A soldier. Jim's CO. It was sad, but he would move on and get the job done.

And he refused to think of the words he'd spoken to Bones only an hour ago.

Pike had wanted Jim, yes. And Jim had wanted a father more than he'd ever admit. But neither of them got their wish and now they never would.

No point crying over spilt milk.

The turbolift door closed and Jim's shoulders slumped with the weight that had once again been dropped on them. He wasn't sure why her knowing gaze made it difficult to keep up the charade, but then she'd seen him at his very worst.

"Actually no." Jim had never said that to anyone, not even Bones. "Scotty just quit." _I made him_. "And your boyfriend is second guessing me at every turn."

Spock had some nerve to preach to Jim about revenge when he'd been all for letting Nero die without intervention. Pike was his captain too. What happened to loyalty? He caught her eye and realized how incredibly unprofessional he was being. "God," he sighed. "I'm sorry, that wasn't-" he shook his head. When he'd met Spock's older self on Delta Vega he'd been unprepared for the shockwave of emotion that had knocked him on his ass following the mind meld. He could barely comprehend most of what he'd seen, but the loving, loyal friendship he had known with his Jim Kirk had left him breathless with longing. Trying to imagine ever having that with his own XO seemed utterly insane. "Maybe it's just me?"

"It's not you." Uhura said flatly. Jim looked at her in shock.

"It's not?" She shook her head and wouldn't meet his gaze. "Oh my god, are you guys fighting? What is that even like?" Then he blinked. "Okay, so that came out a little more thirteen year old girl than I imagined."

Uhura's lips twitched into a begrudging smile but the look didn't reach her eyes. This time it was Jim who reached out and caught her elbow. "Hey, are _you_ okay?"

She nodded shakily. He wasn't the only filthy liar in his crew, obviously.

The turbo doors slid open, revealing Spock, who had clearly been waiting to pounce on Jim as soon as he made it to the bridge.

Uhura storming past him clearly derailed any attempt. Jim smirked. He'd been on the receiving end of her anger enough times to know how blistering it could be. "Ears burning?" He taunted Spock, in no mood to be civil.

Spock's eyebrow rose. Apparently as well as being childish, Jim also sucked at insulting people.

Turning his back on Spock, Jim headed directly to Chekov and stomped down ruthlessly on the part of him that was telling him loudly and violently that he was a complete asshole.

There were a dozen, if not more, men and women in Engineering who were more than capable of stepping into Scotty's shoes, even if the fit would be wrong. If Jim were playing by the rules, he'd promote one of them.

Instead, he went directly to the one man on the ship who he knew would refuse him nothing at all. Jim was about to go to war and he needed unquestioning obedience if he was going to pull this off.

Throwing the kid to the wolves would be the least of his sins today.

"Chekov," Jim summoned a smile, moving in on his target. "You shadowed Scotty, right?"

.


	6. Chapter 6

It's only taken two stories, a boatload of angst and Jim being a ginormous moron, but guess what? THERE BE HUGS ON THE HORIZON. I know, right? It's all going to be very awkward and we probably won't talk about it after, but there are some pretty extenuating circumstances. And a tribble. Actually, I'm lying. There is no tribble.

* * *

McCoy left acting captain Sulu on the bridge and raced after Jim. He'd seen the look shared between Kirk and Spock when Jim had announced that he would be going down to the planet's surface to retrieve Harrison, but unlike Spock, McCoy was not relieved.

"Jim, think about this for a minute!" McCoy hissed, careful to keep his voice pitched low. While it was acceptable for Spock to challenge the captain's decisions on tactical matters, doing so as CMO would simply be an exploitation of their friendship.

Besides, it was clear Jim was in no mood to be challenged, certainly not publicly.

They were headed down to the crew quarters where Jim would no doubt be changing into clothing he could wear on the mission. McCoy seized the chance to herd Jim through the doors and close them behind him, now sealed privately in Jim's rooms.

"What the hell, Bones?" Jim hissed at him, jerking his arm back out of McCoy's grip.

"My damn question exactly." McCoy growled. As much as the doctor in McCoy wanted to comfort his friend, but Jim was not a man who responded well to coddling, and even if he was….he needed a serious kick in the ass. "You're actually going down to the surface."

"You heard me give the orders." Jim snapped, pulling his uniform over his head. "What exactly was unclear, doctor?"

McCoy breathed in deeply. Jim was hurting desperately; Jim was acting the only way he knew how; Jim was….Christ, Jim was going to get them all killed.

"I get it." McCoy said, grabbing Jim's arm again and this time not letting go. Jim would have to physically remove McCoy's hand and he didn't think they were at the point yet where he would resort to violence. "You don't have to lie to me. I know you better than that. I know how your head works. You're upset and you're angry and pushing people away has always been the safest thing for you." McCoy softened his grip, glad to see that Jim was at least listening to him. "You've done it to me before, remember?"

Jim looked away, eyes downcast. McCoy knew Jim had never wanted him to know about all the dark things in his past, and when they'd been brought to light entirely without his consent, he'd made a preemptive attack to defend himself from what he assumed would be McCoy's contempt, and only managed to make them both miserable for a week and a half – right up until Pike had been a meddling bastard and literally locked them in a room together. "That was-"

"Different." McCoy cut him off. "You're damn right it was. That was fixed by a few bottles of tequila and you pulling your head out of your ass. This…Jim, you're not a kid any more." There was no gentle way of saying what needed to be said and McCoy was never one to tiptoe around anyone's feelings, even Jim's. "This isn't just your life you're throwing over a cliff. There are four hundred people on this tin can, and millions more who are going to be at risk if you don't take a step back and look at the bigger picture."

Jim's voice was a cold as the look in his eyes. "And what is that?"

"You made the right choice by not just blowing Harrison to hell. But I don't think going down there is the right move either." And he wasn't just saying that because Jim would most likely get the shit kicked out of him by Klingons.

"Then what _should I do?"_ Jim hissed, some of the anger leaving his gaze to show glimpses of the hurt and uncertainty he desperately struggled to keep a lid on. "Let him go?"

McCoy swallowed. "Maybe."

Jim snatched his arm out of McCoy's grasp and continued to change. "He killed Pike." He snapped, almost tearing the sleeve of his leather jacket with the force with which he pulled it on.

"He killed a lot of people." McCoy said sadly. "You're not the only one who's grieving right now."

That made Jim pause and for a moment McCoy hoped he might have gotten through Jim's thick skull.

It passed.

Jim stood, his back straight and his face utterly blank. "Are we done?"

"Yeah." McCoy sighed. "We're done."

* * *

John Harrison was…well, not like anything McCoy expected. He wasn't even sure _what_ he expected from a man who had caused as much pain as Harrison, but the calm, rational, reasonable man Jim had locked in the brig wasn't it.

From a casual glance, Harrison looked utterly normal. His eyes however, were devoid of anything close to humanity. He wore a cold, blank, dead-eyed look. A look McCoy had been seeing on Jim far too often recently.

Speaking of Jim…

"You better have seen M'Benga about that hand of yours." McCoy said over the comm as he was shuttled down to a small berg of a planet not far from where they were stranded. For some reason they were humoring Harrison's not so subtle suggestions to poke around in an active missile. And Jim of all people was condoning it.

And of course they were stranded in enemy space with a terrorist on board and a captain who wasn't even holding a pair, let alone a full deck of cards.

"_Bones_…" Jim's sigh echoed through the line but it made him smile nonetheless. At least he was back to being Bones again.

"I mean it." McCoy lectured, falling back into their usual routine. "And don't think I don't know about those ribs of yours."

Doctor Carol Marcus raised a delicate eyebrow as McCoy continued to berate the captain. McCoy shrugged helplessly. Was it his fault Jim was a damn idiot?

It felt a little strange to be sitting alone with Admiral Marcus' daughter after everything McCoy had learned about him. Still, he trusted his gut when it came to people: Harrison: bad news; Carol Marcus: not as crazy as her old man.

And Jim seemed to trust her. That meant more than people might have expected. For all that Jim was a sucker for a pretty face – and Doctor Marcus was very pretty – actual trust was something else entirely.

"_Can you maybe focus on the task at hand instead of bugging me about a few bumps and bruises_?"

"Fractured metacarpals are not 'bumps', Jim. Trust me, I know. Your First Officer has one seriously solid face."

"You hit Mr Spock?" Doctor Marcus asked in amazement, at the same time as Jim, who said;

"_Seriously Bones? Do we have to have this conversation again? Thou shall not hit thy senior officer_." Which was wildly unfair. He'd only done that once…okay, twice if you counted Spock. Pike had covered for him both times. Some people just deserved a good punch to the face. Who was McCoy to deny them?

He shrugged helplessly and grinned. "So," He said, changing the subject as they landed on the planetoid. "Torpedoes, huh? What exactly am I supposed to be helping with here, I'm a surgeon."

Doctor Marcus smiled enigmatically.

Which was how he ended up with his arm trapped inside a live nuclear weapon with a countdown rapidly spinning towards death by explosion. The things he did for Jim Kirk and a pretty face. How was this even his life?

Doctor Marcus sounded calm and composed as she struggled to remove the device's outer casing but McCoy was well trained and could read the lines of stress around her eyes.

"Jim, beam her back!" He tugged as hard as he could but nothing budged. He thought he might have a compression fracture in the bone and the metal case wouldn't give at all.

"_Doctor Marcus, can you disarm the device?"_ Spock asked.

"I'm trying!" Doctor Marcus said. "Give me one second…"

"_Nineteen seconds until detonation_."Sulu said. McCoy needed to talk to Jim about the things he let his crew say because that was not in the least bit reassuring.

"Nearly there…" Doctor Marcus said, utterly focused on the task at hand.

"Jim, get her out of here!" No point them both dying.

"If you beam me back, he dies!" Doctor Marcus snapped, the clock ticking ever closer to their deaths. "Shit!"

McCoy didn't see what she had done. All he knew was that his arm was suddenly able to slide free from the casing and he was falling back against the hard ground, shaking with adrenaline, Jim's voice ringing in his ear.

This was exactly why he hated space.

* * *

McCoy, Doctor Marcus and M'Benga were able to get the torpedo, complete with frozen man – because that was normal – in to medical before Jim and Spock arrived from the bridge.

"A word?" Jim said, grabbing McCoy's arm without waiting for an answer and dragging him into his office.

The door slid closed and a second later, McCoy had the breath knocked from his lungs.

He also had an arm full of Jim, which was the very last thing he expected.

His own adrenaline drop had left him tired and achy, but Jim was full out shaking against him, his arms fastened around McCoy's back tight enough that it actually hurt.

"Whoa, Jim…what's wrong?" McCoy though he was allowed to freak out. For all that Jim was free with his affections and constantly touching people somehow, he very, very rarely initiated the type of contact he'd suddenly hurled at McCoy. Hugging just wasn't their thing.

That didn't stop McCoy wrapping his arms around Jim's back. Whatever had Jim desperate enough to seek out that kind of comfort was clearly grounds for McCoy to give the kid a damn hug.

"I'm sorry." Jim whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry. I know I'm an asshole. I'm trying not to be."

"Okay," McCoy said hesitantly. "You being an asshole is nothing new, kid. Sort of a daily occurrence, actually."

"You nearly died." Jim choked. "I almost lost you and I can't."

"Ah shit." McCoy muttered, suddenly hugging Jim back twice as hard. "I'm fine, kid. Not a scratch on me." A few bruises, maybe, and that arm was most certainly going to be giving him hell in a few hours…but nothing worth worrying Jim about.

Jim shuddered then pulled himself away and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I can't do this without you, you get that, right?"

"You don't have to, moron." McCoy said affectionately. Jim nodded, his face flushed with embarrassment. McCoy took pity on him. "So, shall we go take a look at the human popsicle out there?"

Jim nodded, his composure already regained. "Lay on, McDuff."

"Idiot." McCoy grumbled, his steps feeling lighter as he and Jim left his office.

If nearly getting himself blown up was all it took to knock some sense into Jim...

… no, no way was he doing that again. Not even for Jim Kirk.

Who was he kidding?

He'd do it again in a heartbeat.


	7. Chapter 7

Scotty time! Hugs need to be shelved for a moment as our favorite Engineer maneuvers himself in place just in time to save the day – and wonder why the hell he ever listened to Jim Kirk in the first place.

This part is for L. Burke, who keeps my brain ticking over and was only talking about Scott a few hours ago.

Also, while I've done my best to work the science as well as I can, there is simply no getting around the fact that in the movie the times spent at warp are completely ridiculous. I can't even. There are rules to physics that even Scotty can't break.

Rant over! Three parts left to go. A Jim, a Bones and a Spock! Enjoy x

* * *

Jim Kirk was a bastard.

He was, Scott though as he tried desperately to remember where he'd put the emergency kick-your-drunken-ass-to-the-curb hypo Doctor McCoy had so graciously given him after one too many shots of tequila with Jim had left him staring at a spanner for a good twenty minutes wondering what the hell it did, a complete and utter _bastard_.

And Scott was, he also thought, rather too drunk to be behind the wheel of anything, let alone an anything that went up into space.

But really? Who the hell did Jim think he was, forcing Scott's hand like that and then calling him right in the middle of a perfectly good rant to be all contrite and apologetic and '_maybe you're right, Scotty_,"? Of course he was bloody right!

It didn't take a genius to see that anything Section 31 had their hands in equaled Bad News, which, thank god! Because if Jim was the genius he suspected him to be, you'd have fooled Scott with the way the kid was acting.

His fingers closed around the hypo and he lofted it in the air like a sword. "Aha!" He announced before plunging the chemicals into his blood stream to wage war on the evil alcohol that had made Jim's '_oh just hop on a shuttle and go check out these co-ordinates for me will you_?' sound like a good way to spend the rest of his night.

This was what he got for going into space with a crew whose average age was twenty-eight. Twenty bloody eight! Scott was thirty-five. He was almost twice their age. He _was_ twice Chekov's age. And he was a decade older than Jim, who was either five or ninety-five, depending on the day and the number of times he'd been shot at.

His was the voice of experience, and that experience was saying _danger, danger, do not poke!_ And Jim didn't poke, oh no, he beat the seven hells out of the bugger with a bloody sledgehammer. Subtlety, thy name was not James Kirk.

It would be easier if Scott didn't like the bastard. If Jim was just another Admiralty cloned Commanding Officer with a stick up his ass and an overinflated ego, Scott could have washed his whole hands of the mess and maybe gone and been a pirate or something. They always got to play with interesting bits of tech – at least the ones the _Enterprise_ had encountered anyway.

The problem was…he liked Jim.

He'd have liked Jim even if the kid wasn't the reason Scott had been returned from a wintery exile to the Promised Land of Engineering Awesomeness. He'd have liked Jim if the man hadn't practically blackmailed an Admiral just to get him assigned as Chief – actually, there wasn't really any 'practically' about it. Jim had Archer over a barrel with something and he wasn't sharing for love nor brandy.

He just…Jim was _likeable_.

His ego was justifiable; his arrogance a product of tried and tested experience; his stubbornness hammered into him with the type of violence that was shocking.

He was about as far from perfect as a man could be.

And Scott liked him for it. He liked the man who held grudges for strange reasons but forgave grave slights for others. He liked the man who knew the ship's engines as well as Scott did and could only get a moment's peace when pressed against the hum of her heartbeat. He liked the glimpses of the sweat kid Kirk might have been that showed through when he gabbled excitedly with Chekov or looked at Spock like he'd hung the moon. He liked the man who had won the friendship of the least friendly man Scott had ever met and valued it for the gift that it was.

He liked _Jim_.

And to hell if that wasn't just pissing him off.

Sobriety did not make him favor Jim with kinder thoughts. Quite the opposite, actually, as he abused his privileges to commandeer a shuttle and bypass the security that had tightened like a noose around Earth's airspace.

"Do ye have any bloody idea who I am?" Scott bellowed through the comm. to the flustered looking Ensign on duty at the boarder. "I'm Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer of the USS _Enterprise_…you know, that big beauty hurtling through space in defense of kin and country!" He really, really hoped Jim – or Spock more likely- hadn't submitted his papers through the official channels yet. That might be a tad awkward.

Fortunately, the poor bastard suddenly blanched and was authorizing his leave like his life depended on Scott not being there any longer. "Sorry sir, we've having to be extra careful who we let in and out in light of the recent attacks."

Scott waved an impatient hand, absurdly pleased his bluster had worked. He'd seen Jim pull the trick off more than once but hadn't believed he'd manage it quite so well. Perhaps there was a future in espionage for him…

"One moment, sir, I have to-" The Ensign's harried expression shifted to one of concern as he read from his console.

"Er, carry on, then!" Scott stammered, punching the co-ordinates and all but making a run for it.

…maybe not.

* * *

Defiantly not.

Jim Kirk owed him a whole lot of alcohol. Expensive alcohol. Scotch. Proper scotch. Single blend preferably from as high in the Highlands as you could get without running into Big Foot.

And a lot of it.

Granted, Jim had told him to 'check out' the co-ordinates and nothing more. Scott had been the one to see the behemoth hidden behind Jupiter and decide to have a wee nosy around… he couldn't really blame Jim for that.

But he would, because Jim owed him one. Several actually. Several dozen. On the rocks.

Aware that his decision to park his shuttle inside the giant ship and make his way on board was probably taking his WWJ(im Kirk)D a tad too far, Scott briefly considered getting back in his one man shuttle and hop, skipping and jumping as far away as possible.

Only, well… well he was the Chief Engineer on the flagship of the fleet. His department was the best, the cutting edge, the very pinnacle of all Starfleet could accomplish (and finance).

And he'd known nothing at all about the commission of a Dreadnaught class ship.

He'd seen the schematics, of course. He'd even given notes on them because, yes, he was the foremost expert in his field, thank you very much. The feeling at the time had been that the cost of actually building one of the monstrous ships was not matched by the necessity. They were at peace and looked to remain so for a long time. Starfleet's credits were better spent on exploration and fortification, not building weapons.

Only, well, someone clearly hadn't gotten the memo.

She was a beautiful thing of course. A miracle of modern accomplishment, and if he was honest with himself, he'd rather like a few hours (weeks) to have a poke around under her skirt, so to speak. For all that he could appreciate the beauty in her design though, the sheer fact of her existence was disturbing enough to keep him from getting too distracted.

A good thing too, because barely an hour after making the jump to warp and Scott had the uncomfortable thrill of realizing that they'd crossed Federation space a whole lot faster than they should have been able to.

That, and the fact that all of the ship's considerable firepower was aimed at the _Enterprise_, which hung in space like a cripple, doing nothing to evade the fact that there was enough fire power being aimed at them to take out an entire planetary system.

If Jim Kirk had broken his bloody ship…

Scott only had a moment to question why one Starfleet ship was aiming fire at another – Jim was captain of the second ship and people had a thing about shooting at him. Perfectly understandable sometimes to be honest, but no excuse to damage the paintwork – when the _Enterprise_ finally jumped to warp.

Scott didn't breath a sigh of relief, not when he calculated the space they have covered and the time they had done it in. when the ship followed in to warp, Scott knew they could run the _Enterprise_ down.

Having been in more than a few crisis situations, both with Jim expecting him to do the impossible at a split second's notice, and as a grunt responsible to his own supervisor, Scott knew how to keep a cool head when he needed to.

He was able to keep a hold of that, at least long enough to access the ship's computers. Then they started firing on the _Enterprise_ and he knew what kind of damage his girl was taking.

He told himself it was the upgrades, the personally perfected little tweaks that made his ship so perfect…losing that would be devastating.

But in reality it wasn't the nacelles or Jefferies Tubes that he thought of as he hacked his way crudely through the strings of defensive code. It was the men and women in his department, the cranky doctor who always shared his booze, the brilliant kid who worked a mile a minute and followed Scott like a puppy, eager to learn. It was the hotshot pilot and the cool beauty of the woman who didn't need words to understand him. It was the composed logic and the mad brilliance of the best command team he'd ever served under. It was Jim Kirk's soft, hesitant voice _I think you might have been right_ and the look in his eyes when Scott had begged him not to do something stupid.

No bloody way was anyone, Starfleet or not, blowing his ship up.

The code crumbled and the ship's weapons went off line.

If he danced a little on the spot in glee, well, no one was around to see it.

Actually, no one was around, period.

Seizing the chance, he flipped open his comm.

"Enterprise, Enterprise, can ye hear me?"

A moment of silence, then "_Scotty!_" That was the Jim he liked best, young and earnest and determined to do best for his crew.

"Aye, it's me. Did I no bloody tell ya those sodding torpedoes were dodgy?"

"_You're on that ship."_ State the bloody obvious, Jim.

"Oh aye, I'm on the ship, and since I just committed an act of treason against Starfleet, I'd rather like to get off now."

Jim laughed through the comm. "_Yeah, yeah sure. Just hang in there. We're having a few power issues but we'll get you back as soon as we're back online_."

Power issues? One day. He's gone one bloody day!

"James Kirk, what the bloody hell have you done to that ship?"


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter terrifies me. It's so important in terms of character development and I'm so insanely nervous you wouldn't believe it. I hope I've done it justice, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Jim looked around at the grave faces of his crew. They were all composed, calm, but he could see the knowledge of their own deaths in their eyes and the horror of it almost drove Jim to his knees.

Behind him the massive shadow of the USS _Vengeance_ blocked everything from sight and bringing the dawning revelation that Jim had just lost the most decisive battle in a war he hadn't even known he was playing. He scrambled madly for an idea, an answer, _something_ to do that would make things right.

But the mind that had never failed him before simply came up blank. He had nothing.

He'd lost.

His mind had always been his secret weapon, the one carefully concealed behind well maintained persona that fooled people into believing one thing while he was already well on the way to another. It was his offense and his defense all rolled into one and he never stopped thinking, not once. When he'd been at his very lowest, completely helpless and totally at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger, he'd never stopped planning.

That's how it had always been: Jim against the world and he'd throw everything he had into every move he made because no matter what, no matter the cost, Jim always won. And if he lost bits of himself in the process… well it wasn't like he needed a soul, not really. And when he finally met his match, finally encountered the no-win scenario… hadn't he been looking for it all along? Wasn't that the point behind every fight, every argument, every push and pull and unconscious demand that something actually give every shitty thing in his life some kind of meaning?

He'd always thought so, but now…

Now he'd give anything, anything at all, to not have failed.

Everything he'd done in his life should have been for this. He'd learned to fight, to endure, to trust his gut…it should have made him a good captain, but Pike was right. Pike had always been right and Jim simply hadn't got it. He wasn't a good captain. He was just lucky enough to have a good crew.

And now they were all going to die because of him.

Uhura gripped Spock's hand, clinging on desperately. It wasn't just her face Jim saw. Sulu showed no fear and no recrimination, though he was closest to Jim and closest to the ship that would destroy them. Loyal and steady to the end. Jim wished he'd had more time to get to know the man.

He could have said the same for all of them. Each of the twenty officers on the bridge, and the four hundred below decks, all with hopes and dreams and lives that would never see fruition because Jim had led them to death.

"I'm sorry."

And he was. More than he ever thought he could possibly be.

"_Enterprise, Enterprise, can ye hear me?"_

"Scotty?" Jim spun around sharply at the sound of his chief's voice. God, he'd missed Scotty. Less than a day without him and look at the mess Jim had created.

"_You'll never guess what I found behind Jupiter!"_ Scott said gleefully.

"You're on that ship." Jim concluded. And with those words, something blossomed in his mind. Just one chance, a single window of opportunity, that was all he needed.

He spun on his heels and raced towards the door. "Spock, you have the conn."

* * *

"Jim, I cannot allow you to do this." Jim marched at double time down the corridors towards Medical. He knew what Spock wanted, what he'd say and for the first time Jim acknowledged that he didn't want to hear it. Not because he thought he was right and Spock was wrong, quite the opposite. It was because Spock was right and Jim knew it.

He wished, not for the first time, that he had what Ambassador Spock had promised him with his First. He longed for someone who understood the way he thought and why he chose to act the way he did, but in reality it was never going to happen. Not any more. They'd lost that chance and while Spock wasn't blameless, Jim recognized his own failure to cultivate their relationship past the point of antagonism.

It was too late for regrets, but perhaps not too late for his crew. He just needed to convince Spock of as much. "What I'm doing…it isn't logical, it's a gut instinct. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, I only know what I _can_ do." There came a time, Pike had once told him, that Jim would have to let some one in, to trust them with everything. He'd thought that it would be Bones. Bones was his brother and there was nothing in the world Jim wouldn't do for him, but this… Jim couldn't give him this weight.

"You are asking me to trust you: Jim, I _do_. But there must be some other way." Spock looked almost as desperate as he had when they first faced their deaths together. Jim wondered how anyone could fail to see the humanity in him, despite the lengths Spock went to keep it hidden. It was all there in his eyes, and right now they were pleading with Jim.

"No Spock, don't you get it?" Jim said hopelessly. "I'm not asking you to trust me, I'm trusting _you_. I'm trusting you with the only thing I have ever wanted and cannot possibly live without. I'm trusting you with my _family_. They deserve someone who knows what they are doing and that's not me, Spock. It's you."

"You are trusting me." Spock echoed in disbelief.

"I've never done that before." Jim admitted. "And he hadn't, not with the important things. He trusted Bones with his life, but giving up control and trusting Spock to protect the most precious thing he had… it was the scariest thing he had ever done. His whole body almost trembled with the fear of it.

Spock swallowed, seemingly lost for words. He shook his head almost brokenly. "Jim, Khan cannot be trusted." He pleaded, trying a different tactic.

"I know that." Jim agreed. "I'm not."

"And I do not believe you can outwit him." Spock said with his usual bluntness. Jim took no offense. He wasn't all that confident in his ability to outwit anyone any more.

"Khan isn't like Marcus." Jim shook his head. "He's like me." He had known as much the first time he'd looked into John Harrison's cold blue eyes and seen his own self reflected back at him.

"You do not believe that." Spock whispered as they finally reached Deck Nine and Medical.

Jim raised his head and looked Spock levelly in the eye. "If I were him, if it was you and Bones and Scotty in those torpedoes and I thought I'd lost you all…" he let his thoughts trail off. Khan was right about him: there was nothing, nothing at all, Jim wouldn't do for his family.

He'd die for them without hesitation.

He'd commit an act of treason without a second thought.

And if it came down to it, he'd kill for them too.

So yes, he was a lot like Khan and for that reason alone, Jim knew this wasn't a fight either one of them would survive.

They both had too much to lose.

"Please, Spock." Jim said, allowing himself to be truly open and purposely vulnerable for the first time in his life, trusting that if Spock knew and understood how much he needed this, he would let Jim go.

And by some miracle, it worked. Spock took a step back, his expression twisting before settling into it's usual placid serenity. "The I wish you luck, captain." He said genuinely.

Jim smiled, a poor imitation of his usual buoyancy. "I make my own luck." He said.

Spock nodded speculatively and turned to make his way back to the bridge. Jim took a shuddering breath and pressed his hand to the wall behind him, feeling his ship hum with energy even wounded as she was. She'd be safe with Spock. Safer than with him, that was for sure.

The door to medical slid open. Jim strode directly to Khan. He ignored Bones and his concerned expression – he'd heard everything that had happened on the bridge, everyone had – and stopped directly in front of Khan.

In a different life, under different circumstances, it could have been Jim sat there in cuffs, calmly awaiting escape or execution.

"Captain," Khan said, smiling as if one of his many playing pieces had finally slid into place. Jim was tired of rebelling against those who would use him as a pawn, and for the first time in his life resigned himself to being just one more piece to be sacrificed in the game.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Jim taunted Khan.

Marcus might have beaten them both, but Jim had not yet met his no-win scenario.

A cool facsimile of his own smirk slid across Khan's face. "What exactly do you propose?"


	9. Chapter 9

Parts of the latter half of this chapter are taken from a one shot I posted a few months back called Dust and Ashes. It's sad and full of woobie, so Ice cream is waiting for you at the end of the chapter.

Thank you all again for your support and encouragement. I brightens my day, specially when I'm writing uber!angst!and!woe as I am right now.

* * *

"Tell me this is gonna work." McCoy crouched down besides Spock, his eyes never leaving the debris field and the enemy ship beyond.

They had Jim loud and clear over the comms, but it was the second set of data on screen that worried him most. Of all the crazy, ridiculous stunts Jim had ever pulled, this one took the cake.

With Jim and Khan about to hurtle through space towards a ship full of people who wanted to kill them, McCoy's only clear thought was that if by some miracle Jim survived this, McCoy was going to _kill_ him.

Spock would probably help him. "I'm afraid I have neither the knowledge nor the confidence to say." He admitted, which was as good as predicting Jim's death, really. "The odds of his survival are…"

"_Can we not tell me the odds_?" Jim said with a pained sort of humor. "_It's rather off putting. Adopting your bedside manner from Bones is not okay."_

"No shit." McCoy huffed. "Just try not to crash into one of the thousands of bits of space shrapnel between you and Admiral Crazy and you're golden."

"_Right. Got that_."

"_Bit of a problem here, captain." _Scott said, sounding worried._ "The opening's very wee. I mean seriously small. It'll be like jumping off a bridge, blindfolded, into your shot glass."_

"_Nah it's okay. I've done that before." _Jim assured him.

As one, everyone on the bridge turned to look at McCoy. "Why the hell are you looking at me?" McCoy exclaimed. "I'm not his damn keeper."

"_Yeah, but that was a fun night Bones, even you have to admit that." _ He didn't have to work hard to picture Jim's bright, cheeky grin as he spoke, nor the evening in question. They'd both been buzzed from exam success and Jim had been 'dating' the owner of a local bar. Shots had been free all night and they'd both woken up with their cheeks pressed against the liquor sticky mess of the bar, hungover and with more than a few numbers scribbled on their hands.

Jim had spent most of the night hustling tourists and grinning at McCoy who had eventually caved in and helped with his cons. That was before Jim had sat his second Koboyashi, before their workloads had reached critical mass and before the weight of billions of lives had settled on Jim's shoulders. McCoy hadn't seen Jim laugh with the same unburdened joy in a long time. "Yeah, it was."

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked up into Uhura's worried eyes.

It was an expression reflected on every face on the bridge. They all knew what was at stake if Jim should fail. McCoy wondered if they, knowing Jim as they did, feared the price that they would pay for victory.

* * *

McCoy had mixed feelings about Ambassador Spock. And by mixed, he hated the old bastard a whole lot more than he mildly disliked Spock. If the knowledge the old Vulcan had planted in Jim's head hadn't been enough cause to want to rip his pointy ears off – because the thing Jim needed most off all was to hear all the ways the first and older Jim Kirk had been less scarred, less angry, less broken and bitter than he was – then the method in which the knowledge had been delivered sure as hell would.

Jim hadn't the knowledge or the time to consent to the meld. The fact that he would have agreed if he'd known meant absolutely damn all to McCoy. He supposed the luxury of hindsight and distance made it easier for him to judge the old man, but McCoy never really stopped to assess his many and various grudges.

Though he had warned their Spock that if he ever did anything similar to Jim, McCoy _would_ have his ears and he had a jar picked out and waiting on his desk. To his credit, Spock had gotten seriously snippy and stormed off in a stoic but nonetheless obvious tantrum.

Still, the Ambassador clearly cared about Jim, even if it was only on the merits of his own James Kirk, and the news that Jim was currently on a ship with Khan had brought a naked look of fear to his face. On a Vulcan, this one particularly, it was deeply disturbing.

"Well what the hell do we do?" McCoy exploded when they ended to conversation with the Ambassador. "We can't beam him back and there is no one on board with enough balls, skill and lack of self preservation to go over there after him. Not that it would make much of a difference because apparently Khan's going to be Jim's nemesis. Who the hell even has nemeses anyway?" Only Jim, damn him to hell. Didn't they have enough to worry about with Marcus after their blood?

Spock sat quietly in the chair as McCoy paced. Sulu and Uhura hovered close by, both tense, while the rest of the crew waited for orders. Logically, they should assume that either Khan and Jim had been captured by Marcus, or Khan had turned on Jim. Either way, the most rational course of action was to seize the time given to them by Scott's overriding of their computers and head directly to Earth where there would at least be witnesses if not allies.

But that would mean leaving Jim on that ship to face Khan or Marcus or both.

McCoy had a feeling that if Spock tried to give that order, he wouldn't be the only one taking a swing.

But instead of making that choice, Spock suddenly stood. "Nyota, I need you to summon all medical personnel, Doctor McCoy…"

"You got a plan?" McCoy quirked an eyebrow in curiosity.

And then a terrifying thing happened. Spock adopted a look that was so frighteningly _Jim_ that McCoy could have sworn Hell just froze over. "Indeed I do."

* * *

Spock's idea was crazy, brilliant, and as soon as McCoy heard it he knew Jim would love it.

"Son of a bitch." Jim breathed in wonder, looking around at the frozen bodies of Khan's crew. "That's…"

"A move worthy of Jim Kirk." McCoy grinned, helping Doctor Marcus over to a biobed. Khan had done a number on her leg, but from initial glance the break looked clean and easy to repair. Must hurt like hell though. Once he had her settled he glanced over to Jim. Khan had done a number on him as well, no surprises there, but McCoy wasn't stupid enough to try and get Jim attention just yet. The only way that would happen would be under sedation and they weren't even close to being out of the woods yet. They still needed their captain.

"God damn, I bet Spock plays a mean chess game." Jim said in that slightly dreamy tone he always got when talking about someone he admired intellectually.

"Yeah, you two can battle it out later." McCoy shook his head. That seemed to knock some sense back into Jim because a moment later the ship lurched violently to one side. He looked at Scott questioningly and the two seemed to reach the same conclusion at once. Without another word, they sprinted from Medical and McCoy was distracted enough with patients to not even spare him a second glance.

Off to do captiny things, that was Jim.

He was perversely grateful that there were so many people who required his attention and his calm because this was exactly the reason why going into space was a bad idea. This was what he feared, this very scenario, and Jim wasn't there to hold his hand like he had been in the sims. back at the Academy. Instead he had to find an emotional crutch in his patients and he firmly gripped the edge of Carol Marcus' bed as he scanned her with a tricorder.

As he suspected, the break was clean, but her pale face and blood shot eyes suggested that there was more to her condition than simple pain. McCoy didn't need much of an imagination to speculate on how her father must have died – he had a few choice suggestions for the job himself – but that didn't change the fact that he _was_ her father. She was no more responsible for his actions than Jim was for George Kirk's.

"It'll be alright." McCoy reassured her as the whole ship shook around them. Instruments and supplies slid off shelves to crash against the floors and McCoy ordered his entire crew into emergency brace positions. "Jim and Scotty'll fix this tin can up and we'll be right as rain."

Carol nodded shakily. "You have a lot of faith in your captain."

"He's worth putting a lot of faith in." McCoy shrugged.

He believed it too, because when the shaking subsided and the klaxons stopped blaring and they stopped feeling the ship tearing herself apart around them, McCoy assumed what he always believed to be true: Jim had pulled another miracle out of his ass and Scott had been crazy enough to follow it.

He had a brief moment of relief, giddy and sharp, before the second wave of casualties started to pour into sickbay.

He worked triage fast. There were lots of broken bones, concussions, sprains and bruises. He passed them on to nurses and oversaw the cases that required the most immediate attention. It was a sad state of affairs, but there were only so many medical staff at his disposal and with more people arriving every minute, injuries like Carol's broken leg took a back seat to the punctured lung that came in from Engineering or the broken neck from Cartography.

He moved quickly from case to case, assigning M'Benga to surgery and others to prep while he barked out orders gruffly to those who needed them.

Word reached him before the body did.

It was a horrified kind of whisper, muttered in disbelieving voices by men and women who should have been rejoicing their own survival.

They were safe, word had it. Safe, because the captain had saved them. Safe because Jim Kirk had died for them.

McCoy didn't believe it at first. It was bull. Not the part about Jim saving them because that was the sort of thing Jim did on a day-to-day basis: wake up; brush his teeth; save the world; irritate his doctor, rinse, repeat.

He even gathered his emergency kit, checked the hypos he kept for Jim alone because there was no possible way the brat hadn't messed himself up even more and god forbid Jim Kirk respond to medication like a normal human being. No, he needed special drugs. McCoy packed them up and readied himself for the incoming shitstorm.

Foolish boy wasn't going to know what hit him. He was going to drug the kid into next week then strap him down for the worst lecture of his entire existence.

Hell, he might just drug the kid until McCoy was old enough to retire and drag Jim back to Earth so Joanna could care for them both in their dotage. The idea had merits. McCoy stewed on it manically, waiting for Jim to arrive, chaos in his wake. He'd worked his miracle, they were safe, and now it was time for McCoy to do what he'd wanted to do ever since Pike had been killed. He was going to fix Jim up and make the damn kid _sleep and eat and grieve_. There would be a great deal of alcohol involved and Jim would be too drunk to protest when McCoy hugged the little bastard, because clearly that had worked a whole lot better than McCoy had hoped it might.

But Jim didn't arrive, and the whispers didn't stop.

They got louder.

By the time the small contingent of officers traipsed brokenly into medical there was no pretending that the grapevine was misinformed.

The officers in hazmat suits arrived at the rear of a solemn procession led by Chekov. The kid was pale and looked like someone had hollowed him out with a blunt knife. Uhura came next, her face streaked with tears and her lips bitten raw in an attempt to stifle them.

But it was Scott's face that told him everything he needed to know, even before he saw the body bag being carried so carefully into the suddenly silent room.

"No." McCoy breathed out the words like broken glass.

"Leonard." Uhura whispered, reaching out to grab his hand. "I'm so sorry."

McCoy shook his head. "No. No, he's not in there."

They pulled back the front of the bag, laying Jim's still form bare to the harsh light. McCoy looked down in numb disbelief, his trained, experienced mind already noting the lack of breath, the stillness of Jim's chest. He didn't need to take any readings to know what Jim was gone, but he reached out anyway, his fingers searching for Jim's pulse as they had done so many times.

"_You old sawbones, you_." Jim had laughed at him once, not protesting when McCoy's fingers curled around his wrist, taking the reading the old fashioned way.

He wasn't laughing now.

Jim had saved them. Stupid, reckless, _selfish bastard_ that he was. Not giving a thought to what his death would do to them. Not caring that he was killing the man named Bones as surely as he was killing himself.

McCoy hated him in that minute. Hated the stillness of Jim's chest or the slack lifelessness of his face. He hated that he couldn't see Jim's eyes; hated that he'd never be able to look up to the sky without thinking of the boy who had saved his sanity and damned his soul.

How was he even supposed to carry on with his life now?

Jim defined him in every sense of the word. He existed, he was sure, for the sole purpose of bullying Jim Kirk into health and happiness. He laughed when Jim laughed, he cried when Jim cried.

He bitched and moaned and worried for days on end when Jim hurt.

He moved the damn Universe to fix the problem, and when that wasn't enough he stitched the wounds closed and doused them in alcohol.

What the hell was he going to do now? What purpose did he even have?

Looking at Jim's pale, still face was suddenly too much to stand. Another moment and he'd have been shaking his body, screaming at him to _wake the hell up and be Jim again._

He found his chair as if on autopilot, then slumped down, all the strings holding him to the universe cut.

Jim was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Yay! Final part! I hope you enjoy the feels and thank you all so much for all the support and encouragement. This was a tough one, and you made it so much more bearable.

Now we are canon compliant again, it's time to throw all that out the window and bring back the long, twisty turny plots and the much-loved cliffhangers! You know you missed them! :p)

Stay tuned! xx

* * *

A tentative stillness settled over the ship. If Spock were to follow the rules to the letter now would be the time to start writing the entire bridge crew up for insubordination. Spock met Sulu's relieved gaze and the thought fled his mind as if it had never existed. The men and women around him had shown the utmost loyalty and stalwart courage. They deserved commendations not reprimands, despite what the rules told him.

Jim would be proud of them all and Spock imagined for a moment the look on their captain's face as he recounted each and every admirable act he had witnessed.

It felt strange, having prevailed against such insurmountable odds, to not be able to turn and see the flicker of a grin on Jim's face and hear the _see Spock, have a little faith._

A flicker of concern set in. They had received no word that Jim, Scott and Doctor Marcus had been returned to the ship, and while he did not doubt Khan's desire to see Jim die along with them all, he had no knowledge of what physical state the captain might currently be in. He had been bruised and bloody when Khan had held him at phaser point on screen and that was before he'd taken the blow to the head.

He reached for the communication button on the chair, ready to contact either Jim directly or McCoy if necessary, when Scott's sober voice interrupted the process.

"_Sir, you better come down here. Better come quick."_

Without pause to think about why, Spock ran.

* * *

Gut instinct, that was what Jim called it. A move made without rhyme or reason, just feeling. He had no empirical evidence that anything was wrong, no logically reason to break the unwritten rule that said no officer should run unless the situation be dire, as to avoid creating panic in the crew. Spock simply ran, mindless of the people in his path. Though Scott had given him no location, he knew where he was needed. Engineering was the heart and soul of the ship. It was where the miracles happened, as Scott often said, and it was apparently the only place in the universe James Kirk felt safe enough to sleep.

Spock did not dwell on that fact often, having made the discovery quite by accident some weeks prior. He'd sought out Jim's company off hours, wishing to bring closure to an argument he no longer recalled the source of. When he'd failed to locate Jim in his quarters and the ship's computer had revealed him to be in the lower levels of Engineering, Spock had ventured into the bowels of the _Enterprise_ with every intent of continuing their discussion. Instead he'd found Jim curled up between generators, fast asleep. The sight had robbed him of his desire for debate and he'd hastily retreated, but not before a sharp eyed Scott had warned him off disturbing the captain's rest.

"_So the lad needs a wee lullaby to help him nod off, no harm in it."_ At the time he'd not understood Scott's meaning, but as he found himself running through the metal walkways, the ship alive again after such a close brush with death, Spock thought he might perhaps appreciate why Scott and the captain found such solace there.

And for a split second, when he saw Jim curled against the glass safety door, Spock wished he could believe he had simply imposed himself on the captain's rest once again. There was just no hiding the pain on Jim's face.

Spock's mind was a vault of knowledge and it quickly told him exactly how radiation exposure killed. The Gy levels in the reactor would kill in minutes as the body broke down at a genetic level. Spock calculated the time it would have taken Jim to reach the core and added the long minutes between the ship's salvation and his own arrival. He estimated a period of twelve minutes and marveled at the fact that Jim was alive. Spock could not comprehend the pain he must be in.

"Open the door." He demanded of Scott, hands against the glass, helplessly separated from Jim.

Scott was crying silently. "I can't." He said. "I'd flood the whole compartment."

Jim needed to close the chamber door from the inside. Clearly hearing them, Jim opened his eyes and raised his arm to enter the sequence. It looked like the effort cost him every ounce of energy he had left because his arm fell down limply to his side.

Spock dropped to his knees, unable to comprehend the reality he was facing.

"How's our ship?" Jim said tiredly. He was stripped of all the bravado and wit, all the anger and ego, layers he wore like armor and none more real than another.

"Out of danger." Spock answered, transfixed by the purity of emotion he could see in Jim's eyes now he lacked the energy or will to hide. "You saved your crew."

"My crew." Jim smiled drowsily, his eyes closing before he was able to force them open again. "You used what he wanted against him. Nice move."

"It is what you would have done." Spock said, wishing he could explain to Jim just how much Spock had learned from him, not just about others, but about himself. He simply did not have the words.

"And this is what you would have done. It was logical."

"Jim…"

"A captain cannot cheat death." Jim said, uttering some of the first words Spock had ever spoken to him. At the time he'd believed them true, but then he'd not known Jim Kirk. Now, they shamed him.

"This was never what I meant." Spock confessed bitterly, his eyes welling with tears he had not shed in decades.

"I know." Jim said gently, his yaw suddenly tensing as his face creased with pain and he too wept. "Spock, I'm scared." The quiet confession broke something inside Spock. He'd never imagined Jim could sound as young as he actually was. "Help me not be. How do you chose not to feel?"

He recalled the conversation he'd had with Jim and Nyota in the shuttle. What he'd failed to tell Jim at the time was that when he had melded with Pike, he had felt his fear and his pain and most of all the pure, overwhelming love Pike had had for James Kirk. He'd not felt it appropriate at the time, not when Kirk balanced so precariously on the edge. He imagined what it must be like to feel such love and fear the loss of it, and wondered if it hurt half as much as he was hurting now.

"I do not know." He admitted honestly. "Right now I am failing." Tears fell, laced with both grief and reproach as he was unable to give Jim even that comfort.

"Spock, I…you have to know why I went back for you." Jim said, trying and failing to hoist himself upright, suddenly desperate to get the words out though he clearly struggled.

Spock didn't need him to finish. He knew and he understood and in that moment there was not a law in the universe he would not gladly break to keep Jim with him. "Because you are my friend."

Jim's eyes lit up with a warmth he was unable to speak. He reached for Spock and the movement caused another stab of pain to lace through Spock's chest. He knew how Jim craved physical connections and now he was denied even the most basic human comfort as he died. Spock did the only thing he could, pressing his hand to the glass between them, willing it away so he could take Jim's hand in his own and prove to him that he was not alone and never would be.

The glass did not go away, and Jim's hand fell a second time.

It did not move again.

The supernova known as Jim Kirk blinked out of existence and Spock tumbled into the black hole left in his wake.

* * *

He was not aware of anything that happened between watching the life leave Jim's eyes and Nyota screaming his name. As neither sound nor light could escape a black hole, nothing could penetrate the depths of the agony Spock suddenly found himself in.

His control snapped and everything came pouring out in a cascade of anger and hurt, of which Jim's death was only the very pinnacle.

Nyota called his name over and over, but it was not until she screamed Jim's that he was finally able to pull himself free of the gravitational pull his emotions had created.

Beneath him, Khan lay dazed and barely conscious. Agony laced through Spock's head and their blood mingled. None of that computed. He looked at Nyota as if seeing her for the first time. "What did you say?"

"McCoy thinks his blood can save Jim." She rushed to explain, clearly fearing he would slip back into madness. "We need him alive."

Alive. Jim could be alive again.

He hit Khan solidly in the jaw, knocking him unconscious. "What must we do?"

* * *

"Put him down there." McCoy waved at an empty biobed and Spock dumped Khan none too gently down. He was immediately strapped down by two nurses and a stasis field employed to keep him immobile. It was just in time because a moment later, Khan jerked into full consciousness.

His cold eyes fixed up on Spock in utter hatred before his expression broke. "You lied." He breathed, his gaze transfixed by the cryotubes littered around medical. Spock was stunned to see tears stream down his face as Khan's gaze turned back to him. "You lied."

"I inferred." Spock said coldly. "Doctor McCoy believes your blood can save our captain. While I do not doubt his medical expertise I am reluctant to believe that a miracle could be so simple. Please understand that if it means even the possibility of saving Jim's life, I will slit your throat and drain every last drop of your blood to do so."

The tears ceased to flow as Khan frowned. He looked around, his vision limited by the stasis field. "Kirk is dead."

There was a scuffle across the room as Uhura, Scott and Doctor Marcus all had to restrain Doctor McCoy from moving any closer. McCoy had been impassively efficient when Spock had arrived, but the mask had slipped and the raw desperation on his face was agonizing to witness.

"He is." Spock said. "He gave his life for ours and entered the warp core chamber to repair the damage caused by your actions."

To his surprise, Khan actually smiled and it was genuine, not mocking. "As any good captain should." His gaze moved to McCoy. "I will help you synthesize a serum that will repair the damage caused by the radiation – that is what killed him, yes?"

McCoy nodded, his expression murderous. "It is."

"I ask only one thing." Khan said.

"You've got no right to ask for anything you murdering bastard!" McCoy snarled, all but throwing the restraining sets of hands off him and storming across the room.

"Doctor," Spock said, laying a gentle hand on McCoy's arm. "What is it you want?"

Khan looked up at him, his gaze open and honest. "Let us sleep."

"You do not desire your freedom?" Spock asked curiously.

"I believed I had lost the people that I love most dearly." Khan said, pain in his voice that Spock could sympathize with. "I cannot do so again. I know how to pick my battles, Mr Spock. Do you?"

Spock nodded. "Your crew will be safe and none of you shall be harmed. I will let you sleep. If," he paused, stilling the rise of emotions on Khan's face, "Jim lives."

"He will live." Khan promised.

* * *

McCoy had stalled as long as he could before they would need to transfer Jim to SFM. Khan had been put into an induced coma only moments before and they now all stood around the cryotube Jim had been placed in. McCoy nodded to Doctor Marcus and she keyed in the opening sequence.

They had only minutes after the end of the cryo cycle for the serum to work. If Jim's body did not respond quickly, his brain functions would be lost and even if they did eventually bring him he wouldn't be Jim.

McCoy pressed the hypo against Jim's neck with utmost tenderness. "Come on kid," he whispered, "come back to us."

The serum dispensed. They waited.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Spock felt the pull of the black hole start to drag him in again.

Then…

The first, hesitant beat of Jim's heart registered on the monitor.

No one breathed, waiting for a second.

It came.

Then a third.

Slowly, it became regular. McCoy pressed his fingers to Jim's throat and suddenly collapsed to his knees, leaning against the bed. "You absolute _bastard." _He sobbed.

Jim's pulse strengthened as excited cheers rang out around them. Nyota and Doctor Marcus both started to cry, a strange human reaction to joy that he only now understood.

He did not join them, however.

Instead, he did what he wished he had been able to do before.

He reached out and took Jim's hand.


End file.
